


Lone Man's Grief

by JackShit



Series: Connected Works [2]
Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Angst, Blind Character, Dreams and Nightmares, Drinking, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Emotions, Fluff, Gen, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Pain, Scars, Smoking, Suicide mentions, Time Travel, World of Ruin, and everyone, and ignis is struggling, bahamut is a dick, dad gladio, especially prompto, feeeeeeeelings, halp, he is best dad, lots and lots of emotions, mentions of torture, no beta we die like mem, so is noct, sometimes, the character development I needed
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-01-15
Updated: 2019-07-26
Packaged: 2019-10-10 13:01:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 24,701
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17426372
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JackShit/pseuds/JackShit
Summary: “But,” Noct continues with renewed determination, “there is a way that we can… catch up, I guess. We can have all the time we need, but I want you guys to really think about it.”“What,” Ignis licks his lips, which have gone dry now, “do you propose?”“I have a way,” he says, “to take us back in time. We could go back to Caem, just before we left to Altissia. We have time.”





	1. Many a Moon

**Author's Note:**

> I've never written a chapter more than 4k ever hoooooly shit

The four of them, in Hammerhead- how long has it been? Ignis has nearly lost count by the time his charge returns. Blindness accompanied by everlasting night had inevitably made it hard to tell. All Ignis knows now is that he wishes more than anything to be able to see Noctis, thirty years old, sitting in front of him right now.

He supposes he should be thankful enough being able to hear everyone’s voices.

“So what was it like in the crystal? Other than one big sword-god-guy,” Asks Prompto eagerly, a faint tone of wonder still evident in his voice.

Noct hesitates a moment, thinking. “Lonely,” he says eventually, measuring his words with care, “empty, but so  _ full _ at the same time. Full of… everything. Knowledge, wisdom, whatever.” 

“An intriguing idea indeed,” Ignis chirps in, “however, I see you’ve not the wisdom of speaking elegantly yet, or ‘whatever’.”

Noct’s fist lightly bumps his arm, “shuddup.”

“So it was ten year of just that?” Prompto jumps in, almost sounding concerned, “that sounds…”

“Boring? I guess, but it didn’t feel like that long. Like, I blinked, or took a nap. It definitely was not ten years to me. But when I woke up, I felt different. _ Feel _ different, stronger, maybe.”

“So you were in a comma. No, wait- stronger ‘ _ maybe _ ’?” Prompto yelps, “after all that?”

Gladio shuffles in his seat, “slacker”, he mutters, and Prompto hums agreeably.

“I believe it was worth the wait for us,” Ignis smiles in Noct’s general direction before another comment could turn into a jesting war, “you did come back, in the end.”

The room goes silent, suddenly, in the gap where Noctis’ reply should have been. Ignis frowns.

“Yeah. There… there’s something I need to tell you guys. About what Bahamut said to me.”

He stops again, letting out a shaky breath, and Ignis says “go on,” even if he’s sure his voice isn’t steady anymore.

Because he’s sure he knows what Noct is about to say, he’d seen glimpses, years ago in Altissia, before he lost his eyesight.

“Bahamut told me that to defeat the darkness, to kill Ardyn… I’ve got to die. Many have sacrificed all for me, so I must sacrifice myself for all.”

More silence, and Ignis is almost glad he can’t see the looks on the other’s faces, though he can imagine them well enough.

Gladio, still as stone and just as ridged. Face graced with anger and confusion, brows drawn tight, staring deftly at Noct, as if it will make Noct take his words back, to smother them in an invisible choke-hold. He might start yelling in a moment.

Prompto, the same confusion across his features, then replaced by raised eyebrows in hopes of it being a facetious joke, ill put even for Noct. Then once he sees he isn’t laughing, his whole body will sag like some puppeteer cut his strings, and he’ll stay quiet.

He already hears the resignation in Noctis’ voice. He must be looking down right now, trying to avoid the damned expressions of the others. Hands clenched tight together, like his father used to do. Everything screams giving up.

And Ignis? Ignis just feels numb.

It’s not as if he never saw this coming, but the shock of hearing those words aloud, and not inside his own thoughts adds fresh poison to it. He almost doesn’t hear it when Noct keeps talking, interrupting whatever Gladio was about to say.

“... can’t stop it. It’s a price I-  _ we _ must pay, and this world has suffered too long to hold this up any longer, so I have to go today,” his voice is thick with emotions, and still no one talks when he pauses again to think of his next words. The change of atmosphere is palpable, from light conversation between old friends to… to  _ this  _ gives a feeling akin to getting whiplash, or being thrown into deep, freezing water. Too sudden, too harsh and unforgiving.

“But,” he continues with renewed determination, “there is a way that we can… catch up, I guess. We can have all the time we need, but I want you guys to really think about it.”

“What,” Ignis licks his lips, which have gone dry now, “do you propose?”

“I have a way,” he says, “to take us back in time. We could go back to Caem, just before we left to Altissia. We have time.”

Before Ignis can say anything Prompto interjects, “yeah, let's do it.”

“I’m in,” Gladio concedes, voice hard.

A pause, then “Iggy?”

“We would be returned to our younger bodies, correct?”

“Yeah, that’s what Gentiana said when she told me.”

He needs time to think this through, it’s too sudden, and there are too many pros and cons to be heavily weighted-

“Alright,” he finds himself saying, “alright.”

“Only if you’re sure, you don’t have to come,” Noct’s voice has hints of worry in it now.

“No! No, I will be fine, thank you.”

There are sounds of shuffling as Noctis stands to his left, “we’ll leave when you guys are ready, I just want to say hi to Cindy first.”

“I’ll take you to her,” Gladio stands as well, across from Ignis, no doubt using this as a distraction from the information that had just been dumped on them.

He waits for Prompto to join, but he’s still sitting on Ignis’ left when they leave.

“Are you sure about this?” He asks when the door shuts behind Noct and Gladio.

“No,” he admits, “but… this is the last chance I am going to get with Noct, and I will not have you all go without me.”

“If that’s what you’re worried about, I can stay behind with you,” he offers, an edge to his voice.

“You don’t think this is a good idea,” Ignis states more than asks.

“Too many variables,” Prompto sighs, “and, I mean, I don’t want to… I don’t want to pry, but Iggy, gaining back your eyesight just to lose it again is not going to be fun. And, I mean I’m not sure about going back to my old body either.”

“I will be fine, and so will you,” he insists, stopping when Prompto shifts uncomfortably beside him, “but thank you, I appreciate your concern.” 

“‘Course,” he mumbles, then stands as well, “I’m just gonna… be right back. I need a minute.”

Ignis’ lips tighten as Prompto hurries out, knowing he’s going to the back of the building to smoke. For the last… oh, four or five years it has been his worst-kept secret, and he doesn’t talk about it around Ignis or Gladio, knowing of their longstanding disdain for smoking. Each time they’d bring up quitting with him they’d get a shrug and a rambled off excuse of it calming him down.

Now seated with a sour mood, Ignis decides to seek out Noctis and Gladio, exiting Takka’s diner and following the sounds of light-hearted laughter.

“Hey there Ignis!” Cindy calls him over, putting a hand on his shoulder when he arrives where they are, her voice more cheerful than it had been in all ten year combined.

“Catching up, I presume,” he smiles.

“A lot to catch up on,” Noct replies, almost guiltily.

“You sure did keep us waiting, huh, Prince?”

“Not like I wanted to,” Noct pokes back, failing to mention just how long he’ll be back, “er, Gladio says he’s ready to go now, Iggy. Do you need more time? And where is Prompto?”

“It’s now or never,” Ignis nods. “Gladio, would you mind fetching Prompto? You know where he is.”

Gladio scoffs, but does as Ignis asks. 

“You sure you’re ready?” Noctis asks again.

“I stand by my decision.”

“But, like, if you guys need a bit more to think-”

“Noct,” Ignis interrupts fondly, “I will not forgo my last chance to spend even a small amount of time more by your side. Please, let me do this.”

“Okay,” Noct says softly, “we’ll go now then.”

“Of course. It is good to have you back, Highness,” Ignis finds Noct’s shoulder and grips it. Then, hearing heavy footsteps coming for them, they both turn where Gladio and Prompto head towards them.

“Ready to go,” Gladio states.

Prompto doesn’t say anything, but Ignis assumes he’s nodding along and bouncing nervously. The smell of nicotine surrounds him.

“Good,” Noct starts walking away, in the direction of the caravan. He hears the familiar barking of a dog, and he starts to understand.

“Umbra is going to bring us there,” he says.

“Wait, you’ve got a time-traveling dog?” Prompto scuffles forward, probably debating whether or not to pet Umbra.

“He’ll help us,” Noct replies in lieu of an answer.

“Let’s get going, then,” Gladio pushes, moving closer and brushing shoulders with Ignis.

Ignis feels his hand being guided to rest on Umbra’s thick fur, warm and comforting. 

“Ready?” Asks Noct.

He doesn’t even have time to answer as reality bends around him, earth and air warping and changing, and he starts to feel nauseous before direction and consciousness loses all meaning.

_______

Light filters through his eyelids, and he squeezes them more against the brightness that so suddenly assaulted them. Groaning, he opens his eyes a smidge, feeling them burn and water as he inches them wide bit by bit.

Then it hits him. He can  _ see  _ light. Ignis’ eyes snap open, and he finds it in himself to ignore the pain and look around.

He barely recognizes the seaside room of Cape Caem, bright in the morning sun leaking through the window. The green sheets of the bed faded and well-used. The hardwood flooring has scuff marks all over it, from where the rickety old chairs had been moved many times. His hand still feels warm, and he focuses on it burrowed in Umbra’s dark black fur, only now he can see the shiny coat. He moves his head up further and nearly breaks down at the sight of Noct across him, looking at Ignis with curious eyes filled with worry. Gladio is to his left, sparing a glance his way before fixing his eyes on the sunlight outside the window, but his emotion is better masked than Noct. Prompto, to his left, seems to be avoiding the window, rather looking around the room first, eyes as wide as Ignis imagines his are, before turning in wonder to him, then to Noct.

None of them know what to say at first, Umbra leaves and they just stay on the floor. Noctis’ eyes keep flickering between the three of them, all clearly on the verge of breaking down, and Ignis starts to wonder if this was really such a good idea as it appeared to be a few moments ago. His hands starts to drift towards his face, feeling where the scar that encompassed most of his face was now missing, leaving just smooth skin under his fingertips.

They may have stayed like that for the rest of the day if Noct hadn’t stood up and dusted himself of the dust on the floor.

“So, where to first?” He asks, still looking at them carefully.

Ignis stands somewhat unsteadily, moving to look out the window with certainty he hasn’t had since getting his walking cane. Behind him, he hear Gladio and Prompto stand as well. He turns to look at them, and they’re all staring back, like they’re asking him first.

The idea comes to him almost immediately, “the dock,” he says, “Caem shore. There’s a haven there. And a fishing spot.”

Noct grins, “fishing you say?”

“Oh gods,” Prompto groans, “Ignis what have you done?”

“Eh, let him have his fun,” Gladio says, “but if he… ahem... falls in from fishing too long it’s no one’s fault but his own.”

Noct makes a strangled sound, “is that a threat?” Face offended, he leaps to hit Gladio’s arm, a blow which is deflected almost idly. Ignis laughs, and it takes a moment to realize his face is wet. He wipes the tears away quickly, blaming it on him not being used to the light still. Prompto sees and gives him a thumbs-up. 

“Right,” Noct says, “let’s go then,” he moves for the door, Gladio right behind him. Prompto gestures for Ignis to go first, to which he complies with a thankful nod.

He’s grateful for the main room of the house being empty, not sure he’d be able to deal with people at the moment. Iris isn’t there when they get outside either, but he catches a glimpse of everyone in the garden a little ways up, talking to some man while holding carrots.

The whole way to the car Ignis breathes in the sights around him. At one time it may have just been plain, nothing compared to the Citadel in Insomnia really, but now it’s the most opulent thing he’s ever seen. Judging from what he’s been told about the landscape of the future, it’s unlikely it will ever exist again in his time. He takes in as much as he’s able, storing it in his memory so he can look at it in his mind’s eye as long as he wants. Things like these are most easily forgotten in the battle to survive.

“Who’s driving?” Gladio asks suddenly, when the car is a few feet away.

Ignis remembers how long it’s been since he’s last driven, but he’s pretty sure he can still drive just as well. It was something he was almost always required to do in their year of travel, after all.

“Ugh, no way,” Noct says, “I need a nap,” he completes his statement with a yawn and a stretch.

“You just napped for ten years,” Gladio states blandly.

“I’ll drive!” Prompto suggests, moving towards the driver’s seat. Ignis knows he drove a lot during the years of darkness, transporting people from ravaged towns and later regularly doing supply runs for Hammerhead. Maybe driving is him trying to retain a sense normalcy to calm his nerves. Something familiar amidst a strange new world.

“Did you actually learn to drive in the time you had?” Noct snorts, clearly not eager to let his friend drive the car he last remembers him crashing.

“You betcha!” He slides into the front, gripping the wheel and turning on the radio to some upbeat sort of tune.

“What about you, Gladio? Do you drive now?”

“When I have to,” he replies, buckling his seat belt with Ignis. Gladio never liked driving, stating it to be dull, and he figured he could spend his time learning in books rather than staring at a windshield all day. He vividly recalls one of their first trips, the three of them, on a rescue mission to Old Lestallum. Prompto drove the largest truck they could find, while Gladio braved the daemons and brought back people for Ignis to tend to.

He shudders at the dark memory, the scent of blood never quite gone from his nostrils.

Prompto starts the engine and starts driving away towards the shore, humming along to the song playing. Noct sighs and lounges in his seat in the back, ready to take a nap. Ignis sees Gladio pull out his book from the pocket in the car door and move his bookmark to the beginning. The whole scene has an unreal commonality to it that Ignis had all but forgotten years ago. It’s something he never thought he’d see again, not that he’d ever thought he  _ would  _ see again. Everything is so strange, tinted in light and hold a dream-like quality to it that makes Ignis dizzy when he thinks too hard about it.

By the time the finish their silent drive to the shore it’s well past the seventeenth hour, and they all subconsciously hasten their pace when they get out to walk the remaining distance. The haven is a graceful, safe glow that Ignis has heard had faded in wake of both King and Oracle being gone. They all fall into the old routine of setting up camp without a word. Noct helps Ignis with the chairs and cook station ( _ Astrals _ , Ignis missed that thing) while Prompto and Gladio wrestle with getting the tent set up and start the fire.

After all’s done, Prompto and Noct start a casual conversation beside the fire as the night blackens, but it is awkward and clearly both are out of practice. Gladio pesters Ignis about making skewers for dinner, to which he easily gives in. The amount of ingredients in the Armiger alone nearly had him breaking down.

It’s strange at first, cooking again with sight, but he falls into it easily, practiced hand more skilled than ten years ago. He quite literally could have done it blindfolded.

“Mmm, smells good Iggy!” Prompto stands to slouch beside the grill.

“I should hope so,” he replies easily.

“So you re-learned how to cook?” Noct inquires, curious.

“I was not so idle not to.”

“He’s better than he was before,” Gladio slaps him on the back, earning a spiteful glare in response to the action.

“Damn,” Noct nods, “I am impressed.”

Ignis smiles, bowing his head in acknowledgement as he moves the skewers off the grill and onto the plates. The four of them sit down, and Gladio starts talking about the time he had resorted to use a shard of glass from a window to take down a red giant, having lost his sword sometime in the battle. The tale was ridiculous and probably very exaggerated, but both intriguing and amusing nonetheless. 

Noctis is the first to finish off his plate, humming happily as he sets it aside, “you know, I technically haven’t had food in ten years, right?”

Prompto stops with his skewer halfway to his mouth, “oh my gods, that’s  _ awful _ .”

“It is a bit alarming to think about,” Ignis agrees.

“Too alarming for this time of night,” Gladio adds, placing his plate beside Noct’s, “time to hit the hay.”

“And who,” Ignis jabs, “do you propose does the dishes.”

“Noct, I think,” says Prompto.

“Noct.” Confirms Gladio.

“What? Why?”

“You said it yourself, buddy. You did nothing in the crystal,” Prompto deadpans, “you can at least do the dishes.”

“I didn’t do  _ nothing _ .”

“Prove it.”

“Shush, you two. Noctis will do the dishes today, Prompto, you can do them tomorrow.”

“Why don’t you have to do them, Iggy?” Prompto complains.

“Because I cooked,” he finishes, listening to the hushed bickering as he stares into the black, star-speckled night sky.

_______

Ignis awakes in the late night to strangled breathing. He’s facing Prompto as he opens his eyes, so he can see his form vaguely. He’s sitting up, face in hands and hunched over, gasping for breath. It’s so reminiscent of times during the ten years that Ignis has to grapple with the fact that he can  _ see, and oh, gods- where is he- _

Before he can come to his senses, Prompto gets up quietly and leaves the tent, almost stumbling out. He catches Ignis’ eye when he turns to close the tent flap, but doesn’t stop and just closes his mouth tight instead. The action doesn’t fit with the younger form of Prompto he’s seeing, the one that would have been embarrassed at being caught, who would’ve apologized and gone back to sleep. This Prompto zips the tent closed.

Ignis toys with the idea of following him, but decides instead to give him some space. If Prompto is in a mood it’s best not to disturb him.

Shortly after this interruption he falls back to sleep. He dreams for the first time in three years.

_ Ignis is standing in a field of blue flowers. Luna is in front of him, and looks vaguely surprised to see him. _

_ “You are alone,” she says. _

_ He looks down, and sees scars he remembers getting during Noctis’ absence. He is in his older body, but he can see. _

_ “Yes,” he answers her. To his left both Gladio and Prompto stare at him. They too are the versions he’s never seen. Gladio’s hair is long and half tied up. His beard has grown a bit, but in a careless I-forgot-to-shave-oops kind of way. He has a lot more scars, some distorting the careful lines of black that make up his tattoos. He’s traded his Crownsguard black outfit for a vest and slacks with various pieces of metal on it, a poor man’s attempt at armour. It seemed to have done its job, however, scratched and dented but still usable. He looks so angry. Prompto is sporting a gods-awful goatee Ignis has heard Gladio complain about on a few occasions. His hair is a little longer too, and hangs loose around his thin face, free of all hair gel. He also has scars, but Ignis could only see the many on his face and some of his neck. The rest of him is covered with layers of fabric, a shirt covered by a hoodie then by a thick jacket. Long pants with a holster on both sides of his hips. Long boots and his old half-fingered gloves. His face has a long-held exhaustion to it.  _

_ “No, I’m not,” he corrects himself. _

_ “They cannot see you.” _

_ Both his friends smile at Ignis. _

_ “They can,” he insists, confused. _

_ “You are alone. They have nothing. They cannot see.” _

_ “What?” _

_ “Give,” Luna grabs both his hands, “and you will be able to take from them everything.” _

_ Ignis shakes his head, how can he take anything from someone who she said has nothing? Why can’t they see? He doesn’t understand.  _

_ “Good luck, Ignis Scientia. I wish you all the best.” _

_ “Wait-” _

_ The flowers give way to the night, and the dream ends. _

_______

They all wake at odd times.

Ignis comes awake after Prompto does, with the sun, mind flashing still with the dream he just had. He looks around after continued confusion about being able to view Gladio and Noct still passed out in the tent. Prompto must hear movement, because he pokes his head in and waves at Ignis, already wide awake. He points to an invisible watch on his hand and Prompto holds up four fingers. He must have been up since last night when he got out of the tent. 

Ignis steps out of the tent, knowing he isn’t going to be getting much more sleep. Right as his first foot hits the stone of the haven, he’s stopped by the pure beauty of a sunrise he thought he’d never see again. It bounces off the water and highlights the hills and rocks surrounding it. Truly… he has no words.

“Prompto…” he starts, turning to his friend to see him fixated on the view as well. Prompto turns at his name and raises an eyebrow in question. “Would you. Would you mind taking a picture for me?”

It’s an odd request. He’s seen sunsets many times before, this one not even being the most beautiful or memorable. Ignis remembers staring at the ones in the Crown city, early mornings and just about the only time he’d get a moment to himself. This one is nothing, really.

But it’s been ten years, and he is still struggling. Now he knows the times he’ll get to see something truly wondrous is numbered. Ignis can maybe have some piece of mind that at least this one at least will be remembered.

Prompto seems to understand this, on some level, but he still hesitates, hands hovering over the camera in the bag beside the tent. As far as Ignis had heard, he hadn’t touched the thing since being pushed off the train. He grabs it anyway, powering it on and aiming it with practiced, if a little unsure, movements.

A click as the camera goes off. Shyly, Prompto hands Ignis the camera to see. He never had much interest for the art of photography, but even he can see it’s well taken.

“Stunning,” he says, half to himself.

“I know, I didn’t think I’d see another one either,” Prompto smiles into the landscape, tipping his head back and absorbing the heat.

“Chance of a lifetime,” Ignis says, shutting the camera off in favor of looking at the real thing.

He isn’t sure how long they’re there for, but long enough for Noct to exit the tent, groggy and sluggish. He glances up at the two of them staring into the sun but doesn’t mention it.

“Gladio is still sleeping,” he says, voice coated with a thin layer of shock as he sits at one of the camping chairs.

“Ah, yes,” Ignis replies, still distracted by the view, “he worked nights.”

“I thought it was night constantly?” Noct turns his body to watch Ignis as he sits beside his charge.

“It was,” Prompto answers, “but you can’t stop Eos from moving around the sun, right? So there was night…”

“And there was the true night, where both by the Starscourge and by Eos’ planetary movements it was night. During the ‘day’ daemons could walk the ground, yes, but the sun was still present behind the layers of sickness covering it,” Ignis explains, making sure Noctis is understanding, “Gladio hunted during ‘nights’ because the daemons seemed to be stronger during that time. He was one of the only ones qualified, for some time, and it stuck.”

“It’s actually part of how we told time,” Prompto continues, now seated beside Ignis, “certain daemons come out more frequently at certain times. Like clockwork.”

“That’s…” Noct stops, not quite able to find the words.

“Gripping?” Prompto offers, “enthralling? Engrossing?”

“Disturbing,” he finishes, leaning back in his chair.

“Maybe. But useful,” Prompto does the same, except his leg is bobbing up and down rapidly, “don’t you think?”

“I  _ think  _ that it’s something that never should have happened.”

Prompto just shrugs, and the conversation lapses into silence. Noct looks angry, like he does when he hears something that upsets him. Ignis starts to think it best he doesn’t know too much about the happenings in his absence. Ignorance, after all, is bliss.

He thankfully doesn’t have to bear the weighted silence for long, as Gladio exits the tent.

“Mornin’” he says, yawning, “breakfast?”

“Of course,” Ignis stands, eager to cook again.

“Hey, Prompto, how ‘bout a spar?”

He turns to see Prompto expression brighten, gods knows how long it’s been since they’ve last done something of the kind, “you’re on.”

This time Ignis doesn’t have to look to know Noct’s face is something of surprise. From what he can recollect, ten years ago Prompto might have shrunk back from intimidation. Now he’s got ten years of training, at least eight of them on his own, on top of that. 

The two of them move to the outskirts of the haven, finding the flattest part they can of the rocky ground. Noctis sits at the edge, feet swinging over, clearly intrigued. Ignis takes a minute from stirring pancake batter to observe. 

They stand a bit apart from each other, fists raised, and circle the ground. Eventually, Prompto gets bored and launches the first punch, which Gladio sees coming and grabs his arm to lock it behind his back. There is a gasp pain at the movement, but Prompto manages to slip out and back away. Gladio runs at Prompto, who deflects his fist over his head, in turn getting a hit in Gladio’s gut.

They fight like this for another few minutes, neither of them really trying, or it would have taken only a few seconds. Ultimately, Gladio wins the fight by grabbing Prompto from under his legs and flipping him up over his shoulder, then down fast to the ground.

“Ouch,” Noct sympathizes, having had the same move pulled on him many times before.

“Again,” he hears Prompto pant, as Ignis pulls the last pancake from the pan he sees him get up and dust himself off, then put his fists up.

“Not before breakfast!” Ignis shouts just as Gladio is about to indulge Prompto.

All three of them perk up and scramble to grab a plate of food.

“Where’d you guys get so good?” Asks Noct to the three of them, “can you fight blind, Iggy?”

“Yes, I can,” Ignis answers with no small amount of pride. It is one of many feats he’s accomplished in Noctis’ absence. So yes, he can fight, and all things considered he probably makes less mistakes than he used to, now that there is less room to make them.

“Gladio, Prompto?”

They both shrug.

“Blood, sweat and tears,” says Prompto.

“Sweat,” replies Gladio.

Noct snorts, digging into his plate of, at this point, pure syrup, “you guys are pretty evenly matched, though. I’m impressed.”

“We’ll be evenly matched when I win the next round,” boasts Prompto, already setting aside his plate in favour of tugging Gladio up, “lets go!”

“In your dreams, blondie,” Gladio rolls his eyes, but does as he’s asked. They move to the same spot and start their next round.

Noct scoots his chair to be by Ignis’, so they’re facing the sparring match.

“So…” he begins.

“So.” Ignis remembers that Noct, especially in high school, used to get tongue-tied and awkward when he tried talking about thing on his own accord. He waits patiently for Noct to think of his next words.

“How are you holding up?”

He blinks, surprised, “I’m sorry?”

“How are you doing?” Noct asks again, face serious. It’s an expression that is ten years older than the Noctis he’s looking at, and it’s unnerving.

“Quite well, thank you,” he answers, “and you?”

Noct sighs, “I mean it Iggy. I know this is hard on all of you, and I just want to… I don’t know. Make sure you guys are all okay.”

Ignis feels his expression soften. He is not doing the best right now, he knows that. All it will take, however, is just a small adjustment period, and he’ll be back to normal. Back to how he used to be ten years before everything was taken from him. He can actually live in the past now.

“I am doing alright.”

“You sure?”

“Quite, I promise.”

“I’m just worried about-”

Whatever he’s about to say is cut off by the scene in front of them. Prompto had managed to swing himself onto Gladio’s shoulders and use the momentum to topple the man over, legs locking around his neck tight.

“Gotcha big guy!” He shouts, triumphant as Gladio taps his leg to be released, “you owe me!”

“Owe you? Owe you what, exactly?” Gladio scoffs, rubbing his neck as the both of them stand.

“Last time we sparred, you told me if I ever manage to beat you, you’d owe me fifty gil. Pay up!” 

“Bullshit. That was… what? Seven years ago?”

“You do remember!” Prompto holds out his hand, both of the approaching the haven.

“I’m pretty sure we could’ve called that bet off at the five year mark. At least.”

“Don’t be like that! A bet is a bet.”

After much grumbling and complaining, Gladio hands Prompto the fifty gil he’s owed.

“It took you that long to actually beat him?” Noct teases when they’ve settled down.

Prompto scoffs, “no, I just haven’t had the chance. When’s the last time we saw each other before we met up yesterday?”

Gladio has to think, “a year and a half ago. We met up on the same hunt, accidentally.”

Prompto nods, “exactly.”

“So… the three of you didn’t really see each other a whole lot,” it’s impossible not to hear the hurt in Noct’ voice.

“It was imperative,” Ignis tries to amend, “we weren’t getting any stronger relying on one another. Besides, we did still meet up every so often to check in.”

“And monthly calls,” Prompto adds, “to, ya know. Make sure no one died.”

“They’d be more useful if some people actually kept up with it,” Gladio glares in Prompto’s direction.

“Hey, I only forgot a few times.”

“A few times too many,” Ignis chides, “thankfully there will be no need for that anymore.”

“Exactly,” Noctis, now lost in thought.

“Hey, why don’t we go fishing?” Prompto asks, clearly trying to lighten the suddenly dark mood.

Gladio snorts in amusement. “You mean why doesn’t Noct fish while we wait around watching the line slowly break for hours on end. Yeah, no thanks.”

“Be sure to catch us something for lunch, yes?”

“Sure!” Prompto yawns, “c’mon, Noct, let’s catch something big!” He drags Noct along playfully, but Ignis can see the lines of tension along his back and shoulders.

Gladio sighs and leans back when they’re out of sight, his body all but deflating into the camp chair.

“Alright?” Asks Ignis.

“Sure,” Gladio says bitterly, “great.”

“Yes, convincing.”

He snorts, giving Ignis a look, “no better than you.”

“And what is that suppose to mean?”

“It means start worrying about yourself first, before you move on to other people.”

“Pah, I am perfectly fine, thank you. Why does everybody keep asking me that?”

“Because we aren’t the ones who just got eyesight back after ten years, with the knowledge that we are eventually going to lose it again. Say what you want, but that is not easy. You can talk to us, you know,” Gladio crosses his arms, waiting for Ignis’ retaliation.

“Oh come now, you don’t think I know all that? Tell me, Gladiolus, how you think you can help me without first helping yourself? It feels a bit hypocritical, if you ask me.”

“I wasn’t asking you. Is it so hard just to talk to me?”

“I could say the same to you, you know.”

“How am I supposed to talk to you if you don’t return the favor. Honestly, Ignis, it isn’t that hard to figure out. You are worse off than the rest of us.”

“Do not make this a competition, we are  _ all  _ struggling-”

“That is not what I mean!” Gladio throws up his hands, exasperated, “you just need to let more out is all I’m sayin’. Of all people, Iggy, I thought you’d understand. C’mon.”

“What do you mean?” Ignis sneers, knowing he is being ridiculously standoffish and snarky. But Gladio should know him better than that, Ignis survived almost ten years alone and blind, surely he can handle this much.

“I mean I already tried talking to Noct, and how he felt. You know what he did? He laughed and said it isn’t important, that he’s doing this for us. That he’s already made his peace, which is actual bullshit if you ask me.”

“Oh.”

“That was before we left. And did you hear Prompto get up last night? Well, I asked him about it before training and he rolled his eyes, told me to shut up and stop worrying about things that don’t matter. Like he doesn’t matter. So, Ignis, when I thought I’d ask you, maybe I thought I’d get a straight fucking answer, alright? You’re a smart guy, but not when it comes to other people.”

“Thanks,” Ignis replies dryly.

“It’s something you could work on, I’m not trying to take a shot at you. Really, I’m not. But you’ve got to talk to me, please.”

_ “Give, and you will be able to take from them everything,”   _ Luna’s voice echoes in his head. Cryptic, maybe, but Ignis thinks he understands.

“I know,” he finally gives in, “I will talk, but give me time. Humor me.”

Gladio exhales heavily, “okay. Okay, I can accept that. But promise you’ll try to talk to the others too, ‘k? They don’t talk to me.”

“Yes, it seems like a few things need to be set straight.”

“That, I can agree on.”

Laughter interrupts them, as the two other members of their party approach the camp. Ignis turns and sees the two of them bickering and pushing each other playfully. They are both soaking wet.

“What happened?” Ignis rests his hands on his hips.

“This. Asshole.” Prompto says between breaths, “pushed me. IN.”

“You pulled me in right after! I almost lost my rod!”

“You asked for it!”

“Yeah, but you were distracting me from getting lunch, so you asked for it first.”

Ignis lets out a long-suffering sigh, “there goes the plan for lunch.”

“That’s what you’re worried about?” Prompto gasps, “I could’ve drowned!”

“You can swim,” Noct counters, “you’re fine.”

“But I  _ could’ve. _ ”

“Enough bickering, please,” Ignis groans, making Gladio laugh, “why don’t we find somewhere for lunch?”

“Like where?”

“I’ll tell when the both of you change. You’ll dirty the car.”

Both grumble and complain, but head to the tent to do as asked. Gladio shoots him a questioning glance.

“Lestallum,” he tells him, “they’ve good food, yes?”

“Sure. Sounds good.”

“What’s that tone for?”

“It’s been a while, is all.”

“I know.”

A few minutes later, Prompto and Noct emerge, both in their casual outfits minus the jackets, due to the heat. Arguing back and forth, they make their way to the car.

“Prompto, if you’d be so kind to take drivers seat. I’ll tell you directions.”

“Got it. You want the map?”

“No need.”

“Seriously?”

“I have this land memorized, Prompto. What with all the driving back and forth.”

“Damn, still pretty cool,” Noct adds, sliding lazily in to backseat.

“Come now, it’s nothing special.”

“Shut up and take the compliment, Iggy,” chides Prompto, starting the car, “off we go!” He starts speeding off.

Ignis calls out directions every so often, that is, when he’s not telling Prompto to slow down.

“Astral, would you please just-”

“Relax, Ig. I got this.”

“Turn!” Ignis nearly shouts, clenching as he narrowly makes the turn, “for the sake of the gods Prompto, you are not fleeing daemons right now! Slow down!”

This gets his attention, and the car slows. Gladio peeks from over his book, Noctis watches from narrowed eyes. Ignis realizes how loud he’s gotten.

“Heh,” Prompto shoots him a self-deprecating smile, “old habits die hard, I guess.”

Ignis takes a deep breath, nodding. He keeps a careful eye on Prompto, his face now scrunched and tight, “why don’t you put the radio on?” 

“Uh, sure,” Prompto fiddles with the tuner, settling on the same station he put on the previous day, “how much longer?”

“A fair bit, be patient.”

An agonizing bit, really. The trip is driven in silence, other than the beat of the radio, only punctuated by the silent seconds between songs. Every once in a while Noct will wake up with a start, only to look at each of them carefully. Gladio is firmly stuck in his book, Ignis remembers it being a favourite before it was lost some time ago. Prompto stares straight ahead, seeming to zone out sometimes and driving faster, but breaks himself out almost as quick.

“Turn here,” Ignis instructs, then sits back to see the recognition on everyone’s faces set in.

“Holy shit,” Prompto whispers, Noct standing up in his seat. Gladio pulls him down.

“You did good, Iggy,” Noct smiles.

“I only picked a place to eat?”

“A damn good one at that,” Prompto laughs, “how long’s it been? Three years for me, I think.”

“Iggy and I were here last week,” Gladio says, “place’s really changed.”

“What’s it look like now?” Asks Noct, curious.

“A cage,” Prompto answers simply. Noct doesn’t respond.

“Where we eating?” Gladio inquires eagerly.

“I believe I recall a place selling spicy kabobs, why not try there?”

So they do, and for once in ten years it feels like there isn’t one crisis after another to distract them. It is a secure feeling they all never thought they’d have again.

  
  



	2. Chance Again

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is a little shorter, only because I liked the end and wanted to leave it on a more ominous note.  
> Can you believe this was suppose to be a fluffy healing fic? Me neither, but I might add some in the next chapter.

“I could crash right here,” Noct laments, leaning on the cushions in the hotel lobby, “how long is this going to take?”

“Until the room is ready, have patience.” Ignis rolls his eyes at the other man, but honestly is just as ready to be gone to bed. This day was no less physically or emotionally draining than the last, and it will be a welcome relief to sleep off some of his stress.

“How long is that going to take?” He asks, more persistent.

“I don’t know, why don’t you ask them?” Ignis snaps, raising his eyebrows threateningly.

Noctis shrugs in response, sighing and letting his eyes close, probably sedated from the food they had earlier.

It is another half-hour before they are notified that their room is ready, and by then both Noct and Prompto had dozed off in their seats. Gladio hefts Noct over one shoulder, only getting a slight grumble of defiance. Ignis shakes Prompto awake gently, knowing he’s a light sleeper.

“M’up,” he swats Ignis’ hand away, “I’m up.”

Once they are all (not Noct) standing, Ignis leads them to their room. He tries to cover his haste, but it has been very long since he’s slept in a bed that doesn’t have springs poking out, isn’t moth-eaten or dirty. Much of his time he thinks has been spent on hard, cold stone. Honestly, Ignis isn’t sure why he let them all camp for their first night. Maybe because it was as close he could get to routine, and anything else may have been too much to handle, too soon.

As soon as Ignis shuts the door behind them, Gladio dumps Noct on the closest bed and beelines for the bathroom. Ignis hears the shower turn on not long after. Noctis hasn’t moved, and he can hear soft snores coming from him. Huffing slightly, Ignis pulls off Noct’s shoes and places him under the covers gently. He’s forgotten what it feels like to take care of someone else, and it fills him with an emotion somewhere between nostalgia and sadness. Turning, he sees Prompto on his phone, idly scrolling through it. His eyebrows are creased, and his expression is hard. Ignis thinks he might wear it a lot in the wasteland their world has become, as it doesn’t quite suit the care-free, younger version of his friend.

Prompto looks up and catches Ignis staring, “what? Got something on my face?”

Ignis tries to make a recovery, “thankfully, no,” he says, alluding to his future facial hair.

He understands, rolling his eyes dramatically, “it is not that bad. You didn’t even see it.”

Ignis thinks back to his dream, and almost disagrees, but catches himself, instead letting silence stretch out. That’s been happening too often lately.

“What’s up?”

“Hmm?”

“You look pensive,” Prompto puts down his phone, “gil for your thoughts?”

‘It’s nothing, just thinking, I suppose.”

“Oh?” Prompto waits, urging him wordlessly to go on. 

_ Fuck it,  _ Ignis thinks. Venting may be able to help him sort his thoughts.

“This isn’t what I thought it would be,” he starts, surprising himself with his outwardness, “it isn’t like I had expected everything to be how it was, we can’t just erase ten years of our lives. It’s just… been so long, after all.” He wants to say more, but words don’t come to him. Prompto continues for him.

“I think I know what you mean. Like, for Noct this is how it always was. He said it himself, he felt like he was in and out of the crystal, no big. But I feel like I barely know him now, you know? I’ve forgotten so many things about him, favourite memory, colour, I don’t know. Stupid shit, right? But aside from that, he doesn’t know me anymore either. I’ve changed, we all have. And I’m speaking for myself here, but I’ve lost touch with everyone, you guys included. And it fucking sucks, because if I didn’t feel isolated before… it’s almost worse when you’re alone with others, you know?”

Ignis is a bit struck, “I wasn’t aware you were able to articulate so well.” He says this, knowing full well how shut-off and cagey Prompto can be when confronted about things like personal feelings. Ignis has had ten years of trying to deal with it.

“But am I right?”

“You are, but at least we are all feeling this together.”

Gladio emerges, dressed in his sleep wear already. Odd for him, usually he’ll show off in a towel first. “You two having a little heart-to-heart?”

Ignis laughs when Prompto flips him the finger, and thinks that he really is right. He just doesn’t know the three of them like he use to.

“I’m afraid I must steal the bathroom next,” Ignis says, making Prompto pout in response, “I’ll be only a minute, you can survive that long, I’m sure.”

“Sure I will,” Prompto calls sarcastically as Ignis closes the bathroom door. Gods damn Gladio, it’s so steamy he can’t see himself in the mirror. Grumbling, he wipes the fog away, pulling out his toothbrush.

He isn’t sure he can look at himself right now, but brings his eyes up anyway. He hasn’t ever seen himself with his scars and milky eyes, but it put an image in his head that, at the nicest, could be described as simply grotesque. Between that, the feeling of the large burn marks and the constant pain, he’s grown to detest the face he doesn’t know. Looking in the mirror now, he almost expects to see that same image, and is relieved when he doesn’t. Maybe he’s overthinking this. Nevertheless, Ignis brushes his teeth as quickly as he can.

When he emerges, he sees Gladio sitting on the bed beside Noct, legs crossed and book open, sparing Ignis only a glance before looking back down. The King himself looks to have rolled himself in a cocoon with most of the blankets.

“Where’s Prompto?” Ignis asks, seeing no sign of him.

“Went on a walk, he said. Probably needed to clear his head,” Gladio shrugs, but there’s a tautness to his shoulders that suggests he isn’t as relaxed as he is trying to seem, “I’m waiting up for him.”

“Go to sleep, Gladio. You look exhausted. I can stay up, if you’re worried.”

“You look dead on your feet.”

“So then let's both go to bed, and not stay awake for a man very capable of handling himself. We aren’t his parents.”

Gladio lets air out his nose noisily, “yeah, well, you didn’t have the joys of bunking with him for a month. Trust me when I say it’s better if I wait on him.”

This piques Ignis’ curiosity, but he doesn’t pry, “very well, but I am going to bed.” He looks ruefully over at Noct, already asleep but now wrapped in all the blankets.

“You do that,” Gladio says, voice carefully guarded.

Pulling (with much difficulty) the sheets from Noctis’ grasp, he climbs in beside him and tries to get some sleep, but Gladio’s words keep knocking around in his head, worrying him about Prompto. It almost feels like too long before the door opens again with a murmured creak.

“Hey,” Prompto says, sounding startled, “you’re still awake.”

“Nice walk?” Gladio asks, a little too nonchalantly.

“You didn’t have to wait up for me, but thanks.”

Ignis, eyes close to give the appearance of being asleep, hears Gladio shut his book and stand up from the bed.

A hushed ‘hey!’ comes from Prompto when Gladio approaches.

“Are you kidding me?” Gladio growls, clearly making an effort to keep his voice low.

“Was sniffing me necessary?” 

“That’s what you spent the fifty gil on, isn’t it. Damn it, Prompto-”

“Dude, chill,” Prompto mutters, trying to calm him, but too annoyed to put any real effort into it. 

“Drinking too? Or just smoking?” 

“You’re the sniffer dog, do I smell like booze to you? Give me a fucking break, man.”

Gladio takes a few deep breaths, and Ignis can practically see him, face in hands, red from trying not to blow up and wake everyone else, “just… go to bed, Prompto.”

“You seriously think I ditched for a bar, really,” Prompto sneers, hurt.

“You ditched for a smoke, am I really that far off?”

“And what do you care? I’m not your problem.”

“I have to share a bed with the smell,” Gladio retorts. Ignis cringes as he stops to regret his words, “no, Prom, shit, I didn’t mean it like-”

“Yeah, okay. I get it, I know when I’m not wanted,” Prompto lets out a sound somewhere between a laugh and a sigh, “I’ll see you tomorrow, I guess.”

Gladio doesn’t even try to stop him as he leaves, staying where he stands.

“Fuck,” he says, so quietly Ignis nearly misses it.

It’s a long while before Ignis drifts off.

_ He recognizes this field. Half the flowers are bereft of life now, etheral blue now a dark, dead, sickly brown. _

_ Noctis is in front of him. He is so much older, square jaw now covered in messy stubble. He is wearing his old attire, it makes him look awkward. As if it is no longer grand enough for him. He might better suit his father’s robes. _

_ “Ignis,” Noct says, voice warped, like he’s underwater, “what…?” _

_ “Go. Go. Go.” _

_ The air talks to him. The dream is closing in on Ignis, the air around him suffocating. He screams as Noctis fades, and Ignis grasps air when he reaches out. Just like that, the ceiling collapses around Ignis with a loud bang. _

He wakes with a start, sitting up so quickly his head spins.

“Oh, sorry,” Prompto says, scratching the back of his head, “forgot how heavy that door is, heh.”

“No harm done,” Ignis replies too quickly, heart beating rapidly. Noctis and Gladio are still asleep beside him, “were you out all night?”

“O-oh, no. Just enjoying the sunrise,” Prompto smiles brightly, but he’s worrying his bracelet, the one on his right wrist. Ignis doesn’t need that clue to know he’s lying.

But he can’t let Prompto know he (however unwillingly) violated his private conversation, so he tries skirting around it to get to an answer, “ah,” he says, “I didn’t hear you come in last night.”

“You were asleep,” he replies, eyeing him, “right?”

Shit, “yes, of course. I just assumed I would wake.”

“I was quiet,” Prompto now moves avoidently to put on some coffee, “want some?”

“Yes, thank you,” damn it. He’s lost his chance now. Ignis stands, looking at the clock. Only three. He’s probably gotten four hours of sleep, at the most. 

“Urgh,” Noctis groans, shifting in his blanket fortress, “wha’ time is it?”

“Quite early,” Ignis responds. Figures that this whole time traveling business would mess up their sleep schedules, “you may sleep longer, if you wish. However it may be better to get up now, and try to maintain some sort of routine.”

“I’m hungry anyway,” he sits up, and Ignis has to hide a smile at the sight of Noctis with unimaginably atrocious bed head. One of many things he’s either forgotten or thought he’d never see again, “what’s for breakfast, Specs?”

“I’ll let you decide.”

“Prompto?” Noct asks.

“Eh, whatever,” he says, leaning against the counter, arms crossed.

“How about… eggs?” Noctis suggests, “haven’t had those in a while.”

Ignis huffs, Prompto snorts in amusement.

“What? What did I say?”

“There were three things to eat once all the animals died,” Ignis laughs, at Noct’s offended expression, “mushrooms, fish and abandoned bird eggs.”

“What about the birds?”

“They stayed high enough so that we couldn’t reach them. The first few years it was mainly eggs.”

Prompto shudders, “I was put on duty to collect them the third year, it was awful.”

“So… not eggs then?” Noct asks.

The morning from then on is relatively calm. They talk about what they may do today, if they want to see anyone, an so on. When Gladio wakes up, he doesn’t so much glance in Prompto’s direction before closing himself in the bathroom.

Raising his eyebrows, Noctis says “what’s that about?” Ignis shakes his head while Prompto serves the coffee. Noct takes a sip and turns his nose up, “it’s… very strong.”

Prompto shrugs, evidently a mile away. Ignis takes a sip, tasting the same thing, “no matter, it’s still drinkable. In any case, it ought to wake us up.”

There’s tension brewing now, between Ignis’ rising heart rate, Noct’s suspicion, Gladio’s anger and Prompto’s constant need to tap his foot, the atmosphere in the room leaves a lot to be desired for. Things never can stay peaceful for long, can they?

“I think I’ll go out to find some potions,” Ignis says, if only to get out of the room.

Noct frowns, “will we be needing any?”

“I expect the pay for our room to be steep, so taking up a hunt or two would not be ill advised.”

“I’ll come with,” Prompto offers.

Ignis nods, and the two of them start to dress in their day-to-day wear. He’d been hoping to free himself of the others, if only for a moment. It’s been a while since he’s spent so much time, especially in close quarters, with other people. He’s dreadfully out of practice, and it’s wearing on his nerves. Then again, Prompto appears to have the same issue, and isn’t in a chatty mood. Maybe he’ll be good company.

“All set?” Ignis checks.

“Uh, wait. Noct, do you have a sweater or something?” 

Noct looks surprised, “yeah, here,” he pulls his black hoodie out of the Armiger, “things have really changed, eh?”

Ignis doesn’t think he’s referring completely to fashion choice. In any case, no one responds. Prompto pulls the oversized hoodie over his head, nodding to Ignis to say he’s ready now.

“Any hunt in mind?” Ignis inquires, locking the door behind him.

“Not really.” He puts his hands in his pocket and looks at the ground as they start walking.

“I will go collect the curatives, if you wouldn’t mind collecting a hunt, so you may want to think on it.”

“‘K.”

Ignis sighs, exasperated, “I’ll see you in a few minutes, then, yes?”

“Yup.”

They part, and Ignis finds the vendor he wants. It’s the same man who, even ten years from now, still sells life-saving goods. Potions may now be rendered useless in the absence of the Crystal’s magic, but bandages and the like are just as valuable. In the future, both Prompto and Ignis had brought this man supplies, and know him to be an honest, kind person.

“What’ll you have?” He leans forward.

“Five potions and an elixir, please,” he says, counting their funds.

“You got it, that all?”

“Yes, thank you,” Ignis grabs the bag of goods and banishes them to the Armiger in a sparky flash of blue, passing the wide-eyed man his gil.

“Have… have a nice day, yeah?”

“You as well,” he smiles, then sets off to find Prompto. He finds him standing over a table, where the waiter has handed him several flyers, and he seems to be mulling them over, “decide on any?”

“Oh!” He jumps, “yeah, thought we might pick up a few.”

“That may be wise,” Ignis remembers his count of the sum of their funds, “let’s see what we have.”

One poster, the one on the bottom, showcases several imps, on top of that, flan. The one Prompto is seeming to favour is a high level psychomancer. The rewards for them are all relatively high.

“These seem alright. We’ll have to do them tonight, so it’s a bit of a wait. We’ll head back to the room in the meanwhile. From there we’ll make a plan.”

“Sounds good,” Prompto scoops up the fliers, responding in the most minimalistic way he can.

“It’s strange being back here, isn’t it?”

“Sure is.”

“People are here who we know, and they’ve never met us yet. People are here who have died, but walk the streets. The streets themselves have changed, there are new people. Here it is filled with freedom, free of fear.”

“Poetic,” Prompto remarks, “I’ve said it before, Iggy, and I’ll say it again. You ever think you think too much?”

“Far too much, Prompto.”

“Yeah, me too.”

They walk back quietly after that, but it’s companionable this time. They stop at the door while Ignis fishes for his keys.

“I’ll be back,” Prompto says suddenly, “don’t wait up.”

‘And where are you going? I’m about to make some breakfast.”

“To think,” he winks and walks away. Ignis rolls his eyes. He knows avoidance when he sees it.

Noctis opens the door, “I heard voices,” he explains, “where’d Prompto go?”

“He’ll be back shortly, I assume. Have you decided on what you’d like to eat?” He slips inside, glancing around the room. Gladio is in on the bed, arm placed across his eyes and turned advertently away from the door.

“Not really hungry,” he shrugs, glancing to where Gladio is splayed, “we should go walk around.”

“Yes, and we’ll do some hunts tonight, so let’s not tire ourselves.”

“C’mon, Gladio,” Noct calls.

The big man sighs and sits up. He looks pissed, like Ignis imagined he looked like on the train. Like he knows he looked like when news came that Niflheim’s peace treaty was a trick. 

“Why not?”

“Is Prompto coming?” Noctis crouches down, trying to find his shoes under the bed.

“He told me not to wait up, so I’d think not.”

“Figures,” Gladio sneers.

“What’s your issue?” Noct snaps, turning around.

Gladio stops, glaring at the wall, “forget it.”

“How about… no?” 

“Drop it, will ya? You can’t fix everything, Highness.”

Noctis glowers, “you’ve been ill-tempered since we left, so what’s your problem?” Ignis stands to the side, not confident enough to butt in on the conversation if this is something the two of them need to work out.

“I don’t have a problem.”

“Bullshit, and you know it. We can work this out, you don’t have to be a dick about it.”

“And why the hell should I tell you,” Gladio gets right in Noct’s face for this jab, sneering in a strong attempt to tell him to back off.

“Because you  _ know  _ me. And you’ve been moody since this morning.”

“I’ve been ‘moody’ for a lot longer than that. And Prompto’s been depressed and Ignis’ been completely withdrawn for  _ ten years. _ Things changed when you left us, what about that do you not get? You don’t know us and we sure as hell don’t know you anymore.”

Noct’s face slides to something blank, but it’s strained. He opens and closes his mouth, wanting to say something bus most likely not wanting to have it turn back on him. He looks at Ignis for help, but he can only shake his head. Gladio isn’t wrong, he just words things a little… harsher than they needed to be.

“Okay,” he ends up saying, softly. No one moves.

“Gladio, maybe-” a look from his friend makes Ignis stop. He doesn’t want to aggravate things. Maybe he’s become more withdrawn than he thinks, not wanting conflict and yearning for nothing more right now than to hole up in his Lestallum closet of a room and work on reports.

Except he isn’t in Lestallum anymore, not the one he’s come to know, anyway. Suddenly, as if it wasn’t before, everything is too much. Ignis can see. And Noctis is back. And he doesn’t know these people anymore and he doesn’t know himself because he isn’t himself, not really. He isn’t the twenty-two year old Advisor to the King who had everything, just like Noctis isn’t the twenty year old prince anymore, but it’s what they’re both trying to be right now. Gladio and Prompto are still in their thirties and the arguments they’re having are the same ones they’ve always been having, the only difference is the setting, the one they won’t even try to adapt to. And Noct an Ignis are trying too hard to change, and that’s where the issue is.

They just aren’t the people they started this journey as, and that’s why this feels so wrong.

“I see my error,” Ignis says, after a brief pause.

This gets Gladio’s attention, “yeah?”

“Yes, I… I only wish for this to be more of the ‘calm before the storm’, rather than a constant argument.”

Noctis looks back and forth between them, brows furrowed, “I missed something.”

Gladio ignores him, “me too,” he nods, “sorry for the outburst.”

“No matter, it’s done. I think Noct needs the apology more than I.”

Gladio rolls his eyes but does as asked, “right. Sorry, princess.”

Noct shakes his head, “you? Apologising to me? Things really have changed.”

The big guy takes this in good humour, smiling and standing to slap Noct on the shoulder, “let’s go out then, yeah? I saw this great food place on the corner-”

Ignis sighs, “so much for cooking.”

“Take a break, Iggy. This is supposed to be relaxing, like you said.”

“Cooking is relaxing,” he insists, “but I suppose this wouldn’t be the worst thing.”

“Let’s get going then,” Noctis says, pushing them forward, “I think I saw this weapon shop, we might want to stock up.”

Ignis summons his dagger at this thought, getting a look at it. In ten years, this blade will be shards of broken rust, lost somewhere in the swamps of the Vesperpool. His new dagger is blunt, but not better than the one he has in his hands now.

“What’s the matter with the ones we have?”

“Yeah,” Gladio doesn’t summon his great sword, but Ignis imagines it’s much the same as his own, “if it ain’t broke, don’t fix it.”

“There are better ones,” Noct urges, “one’s we are going to need.”

“I don’t think we have the funds,” Ignis again remembers his count from when he bought potions.

‘I could go pick up a hunt,” Gladio shrugs.

“What? By yourself?” Noctis raises his eyebrows.

“No daytime beast can scare me, princess.”

“It isn’t safe.” Noctis tries, clearly concerned.

“It’s as safe as it gets.”

Noct opens his mouth again to retaliate, but Ignis interrupts, “let him go, we’ll need the money. I’m sure he can handle himself, Noctis.”

Gladio nods, but Noct still looks unsure, “alright,” he says, “after breakfast.”

“Done.”

They all walk out together, side by side, to the food place Gladio said he saw. Ignis remembers it, if only a little, and the man there greets them heartily. He doesn’t think he’ll ever get used to the sight of all the people laughing and enjoying themselves, the sight of the sun or the genuine tone of joy around him. They three of them end up ordering some dish that smells like oranges and cream, it’s quite good. Ignis writes it down for later. While they eat, Gladio gets a hunt from the proprietor, a few Voreteeth that have been causing some trouble for hikers down the way.

“Five thousand gil is worth about half a good weapon,” Noct complains, “it isn’t worth it.”

“Five thousand gil is quite a bit anyway,” Ignis says, “enough to cover our hotel stay, at the least.”

“I guess. Did you and Prompto pick up some hunts?”

“We did,” he passes Noct the flyers.

“Oh damn,” he remarks, “all daemons? These are pretty… interesting choices.”

Gladio takes a look, “these are our regulars in the future. Pretty common, I’m not surprised you picked these.”

“Gross, I hate flan.”

“Ah, which makes it all the more satisfying to annihilate in the end, hm?” Ignis finishes, “you should leave now, Gladio. It will give you more time to rest before tonight.”

“If I didn’t know you any better, I’d say you wanted me gone Iggy,” he stands nonetheless, “I’ll see you guys in a few.”

“C’ya,” Noct waves dismissively, small frown gracing his face.

“Be safe, please.”

“Yeah, yeah. You too.” Gladio stalks off, hands shoved deep in his pockets. The ‘you too’ wasn’t especially necessary, it’s just a habit from each time they would say goodbye to each other. Luck should never be in short supply. 

As soon as Gladio is out of view, Noctis leans forward, “we need to talk.”

“Certainly,” acquiesces Ignis, familiar dread pinching his stomach, “go on.”

“I had a dream last night. Well, not so much a dream. You were in it.”

Ignis’ eyebrows crease, “I believe I know what you mean, I had one as well, and you were there. But you were older.”

“So were you, I thought you couldn’t see me. But Bahamut was in mine, was he in yours too?”

“Not in person, but I believe I heard his voice.” Ignis leans in with Noct, not too surprised in sharing dreams if only at the thought alone that if his friend could live in a rock for ten years, strange dreams were not so strange, “like a thousand swords being dragged across stone.”

“Dramatic, but yeah, that’s him,” Noctis places his face in his hands, “he wants me to go back.”

“That isn’t possible, this Bahamut has not yet seen you go back in time.”

“He’s a god, Iggy. He doesn’t necessarily exist in one period of time all at once. He just kinda… is, you know? I think he’s been following me, making sure I don’t fuck this up.”

“Astrals. Does he think you would abandon you calling?” He pulls Noct’s hands away from his face, if only to judge the expression on it. He doesn’t let go of his hands when they reach the table.

“Yeah. He wanted to keep me in the crystal longer, you know. He didn’t think ten years was enough, that I was ready. Maybe he was right, but I couldn’t stay any longer. I have what I need to dispel the darkness and kill Ardyn, I need nothing more. But Bahamut is watching to make sure I don’t bounce.”

“Will he do anything about it?”

“I… I don’t know. If we’re lucky, it’ll just stay dreams.”

Ignis squeezes Noct’s hands, “and if we’re not…?”

A pause, “back to the crystal, I suppose. Then probably another ten years.” Noct is shaking now, ever so slightly. The fear in his voice is almost tangible, like he’s twenty years younger and curled up beside Ignis, scared out of his wits from a nightmare. This memory is strong enough to stop whatever answer Ignis would have formed, and leave him wondering why they couldn’t have traveled back farther, when they could’ve pretended that the worst of their problems really were just nightmares.

“I see,” is all he manages.

“The longer we stay here, the more at risk we are.”

“Right.”

“We can’t stay here long, Ignis.”

“I understand. When should we…” his throat is dry, and he doesn’t want his voice to crack under the stress of keeping it steady, so he leaves the question open ended. More than anything, he does not want to leave just yet. No, not yet.

“I’m not sure. The dreams aren’t so bad now that its imminent, but we need to be careful.”

“Agreed. If anything, I did finally get you see you all ten years older,” Ignis keeps his voice light, trying to dispel the darkened mood.

“All?”

“I saw Gladio and Prompto, when we camped. It was… disturbing.”

“I bet, I know how it feels to see all your friends age that much after only remembering them at twenty,” Noct deadpans.

“They look gods awful, I must say,” he jokes back.

“What, and you’re any better?”

“Pah, I remained presentable, at the very least.”

“Prompto’s face?”

“And Gladio’s outfit. Honestly.”

It’s almost a relief to have the laughter. This may be the first time in his life that Ignis is avoiding an issue with an obvious solution, but if that means his friend and brother lives to breathe another day, then so be it. If it means Gladio doesn’t have the constant worry of having  his family dying, if only for a few precious moments, so be it. If Prompto can, for once, find some semblance of peace and happiness, so be it. If, for one more day, Ignis can bask in the order and unity of this world and live to see it too. 

So be it.

  
  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HOO BOY. I don't know when the next chapter will come out. New semester and BIO and LANGUAGES, so I will be busy.  
> Thanks for reading!  
> And you can find me on instagram @gladiotakesphotos if you want to rant with me.


	3. The Coward Prince

_“What happens now?” Noctis screams into the empty, “what the hell am I supposed to do?”_

_Bahamut, the giant asshole, does not answer. Noct can’t even see him, spinning around like this. It isn’t his body that's moving, however, it’s his brain. Thoughts run rampant, tripping and screaming for attention. He can’t even sort out which emotion he feels. Good, bad, up, down-_

_There, he and his father are sitting down for his fifth birthday cake._

_There, he’s meeting his best friend for the first time._

_There, Gladio is throwing him on his ass again and again._

_There, his fiance has just been murdered._

_Ardyn smiles at him._

_Ignis is blind._

_Cindy greets him with a smile._

_His best friend is being tortured._

_He’s spinning._

_He is out of control._

 

The heat of the sun, as much as Noctis craves it, starts to become too much, so Noct and Ignis start walking back to their room, figuring they’ll rest there for a bit and wait for Gladio. Noct knows it’s weird, but he’s feeling lazy from all the sitting around they’ve been doing. It’s calm, quiet, relaxing, all the things being in the Crystal wasn’t.

“I’m feeling antsy,” he says to Ignis, who has his face tilted up a bit to the sun as they walk.

“Yes, I don’t blame you. It’s quite a jump to be fighting for your life in one moment, and then enjoying the morning sun the next. And while I can’t say I miss filing starvation reports, I certainly miss doing the work.

“Ignis, I don’t think you’re going to retire until you’re ninety.”

“What makes you say that?” Ignis shoots him a glance, one that tells him not to toe the line.

“Dunno, you tell me,” Noct nudges him playfully, ignoring the warning.

Noct knows he’s right, at least to a degree. He can’t ever see Ignis settling down quietly, waking up to sit on a porch and watch the sky. After all, he’s been raised with the firm idea that he’ll be supporting Noctis for all his life, but since that won’t happen, he supposes Ignis will be given the challenge of reforming Insomnia. That’s going to take ages. Can Ignis really leave the fate of his home to someone else while he still remains able minded? It’s hard to imagine.

“You may have a point,” Ignis muses, probably thinking the same thing as Noct.

They open the door to the room, and Noct sees Prompto sitting on the balcony, staring at the sky. He only half turns around when he hears the door, but waves a hand over his shoulder.

“Look who’s back,” Noct comments, “where did you go?”

Prompto merely shrugs, not interested in giving an answer. The part of his face that Noct sees holds an expression of peaceful drowsiness.

“Did you eat yet?” Ignis asks.

Prompto turns and walks inside, “nah, not hungry though,” he smiles brightly, the off mood from earlier replaced with a half-assed attempt at channeling his personality from ten years ago, “where did you guys go?”

“Got food,” Noct answers, lackadaisical, “what, too cool to join us?”

Prompto nods thoughtfully, “way too cool.”

“You got my sweater?” He asks, seeing that Prompto is just in his tank top now.

Prompto points to the bed, where it’s crumpled in a sorry heap of attempted folding. Noctis picks it up, frowning. He gives it a long sniff, “did you wash it or something?”

He gets a look back that basically tells Noct that he’s being weird, so he drops it. Prompto will come talk when he’s ready, no need to push things, not with Ignis here.

“Hey, Noct,” Prompto says, almost shyly, “King’s Knight?”

Noct grins, “you’re on.”

“Cool,” comes the reply, “damn, forgot how much I missed this game.”

Noct glances at his friend, distantly aware of Ignis moving things in the kitchen, “what? No downtime for it?”

Prompto’s face gets tight, like Noct knows it does when he’s thinking about things he doesn't like, “nah, just, you know. Lost my phone when… the train and stuff.”

‘Train and stuff’ means Ardyn, so Noctis drops that line of conversation, instead focusing on the digital beasts they have to defeat. Prompto’s dreadfully out of practice, so they lose most of the games. Neither of them mind, more so enjoying the time with each other. It’s just been so long. After about a half hour Ignis interrupts them with grilled sandwiches.

“Eat,” he urges when Prompto begins to shake his head, “you’ll need your strength for tonight.”

“No thanks,” he says, waving Ignis off, “really, not hungry.”

Noct sees Ignis looking at him for help, so he says, “you haven’t eaten all day, dude. There’s no way you-”

“Hey,” Prompto snaps, “drop it. Not hungry, ‘kay?”

Prompto has never, _never_ snapped at anyone. Much less Noct. It makes something break in him, wither and die.

“Alright,” he replies softly, at loss for words. Prompto looks at him for a moment like he wants to apologize, but he doesn’t get a chance as someone knocks at the door.

“Let me,” mutters Ignis, clearly wanting no part in the tension. He opens the door to reveal a very tired, grumpy, bruised and worryingly bloodied Gladio.

“Shit!” Noct yelps, surprised as Gladio stumbles in, “what happened to ‘small hunt’?”

“Dude,” Prompto says, jumping up to help support him, “here, sit.”

Ignis is simply staring in shock, which is extremely unlike him. Unfortunately there’s also a grim, guilty look in his eyes that Noct isn’t sure he wants to decipher.

Prompto, on the other hand, doesn’t seem phased, helping Gladio peel off his shirt to get to the worst of the wounds.

“Hey, Noct, you got bandages?” Prompto throws over his shoulder, using Gladio’s soiled shirt to try mopping up the blood, “and Ignis, water and towels, now.”

This shakes them both out of the paralyzing astonishment. For the sake of the gods- they’ve taken voreteeth before, millions of times. It isn’t fitting in Noct’s head how this could’ve happened. He watches Ignis hand Prompto water and some of the towels from the kitchen, ones they’ll have to replace no doubt.

“Thanks,” Prompto murmurs, mopping at the open wounds covering Gladio’s shoulder first.

“Want to spill what happened?” Noct inquires first, noticing how Gladio is just letting everything pass him, sort of sitting in a dissociative mental state.

“Got out of hand,” he manages gruffly, voice hardened by taunt pain.

“Noct, potion-” Ignis starts.

“No,” Prompto and Gladio speak at the same time, startling each other.

“I don’t need any,” Gladio tells them irritatedly.

“We won’t have enough for tonight anyway,” clarifies Prompto, “they just _look_ bad anyway. You might have some pretty nasty scars though.”

He gets a thoughtful nod in return, and Prompto finishes dressing and cleaning the gashes in silence, Noct and Ignis too stunned to do anything. Prompto has it handled anyway, and Gladio is covered in white bandages in record time.

“Done!” He exclaims, turning to the sink to clean his hands, “get some sleep, big guy.”

“Thanks, Prom,” Gladio nods, kicking off his shoes and laying down.

“Just returning the favour.”

“By my count you owe me at least ten more times,” Gladio grins tiredly, “at least.”

Prompto snorts, “I hope not. Sleep tight.”

“Yeah, yeah,” and within moments he’s snoring lightly.

“What the fuck,” Noct says eventually. Since he’s come back he feels like there’s so much he’s missed. Prompto and Gladio’s interaction went right over his head, like he was missing some deeper meaning or connection. He can’t even read the look in Ignis’ eyes right now, and that scares him more than he can say. He’s become isolated and out of touch with the people that matter most.

“This is my fault,” Ignis clears his throat, “I should not have encouraged him to go, it was too dangerous.”

“No,” Prompto pulls himself up to sit on the kitchen counter, “he can handle himself.”

Noct pulls over a chair, “then what the hell was that?”

“Gladio being Gladio,” Prompto says avoidantly, “you’ll have to talk to him about it.”

Noct frowns, “but you know what’s going on?” He can’t help but feel a little frustration creep in. They’re supposed to know everything about each other, they’re family. Prompto not telling him this feels almost like a punch to the gut.

“Pretty sure,” Prompto shrugs, “that’s for him to tell, though.”

Noct looks at Ignis to gage his reaction, but it’s shuttered and calculating, something passing through his features that breathes turning cogs and gears.

“You don’t suppose this was intentional,” he says carefully.

Prompto looks down while Noct stares at his advisor with wide eyes, “excuse me?”

“He’s a very capable fighter, Noctis,” he explains, “I just don’t see how this could have happened.”

“But it’s _Gladio,_ ” Noct argues, “Gladio wouldn’t do that.”

Ignis’ forehead creases, like he disagrees. That can’t be right, though, because Gladio doesn’t let things get out of hand like that. He’s tactical, practical and skilled in battle, but that’s when Noct knew him ten years ago, but that just is not right. Noct hates to think it, but Ignis may be on to something, if Prompto’s careful staring at the ground has anything to do with it. Tension hovers over the three like a thick fog, engulfing them to the point of suffocation.

Feeling the need to break the silence, Noct asks, “did, uh. Did he get the money from it?”

Ignis pulls out their collective wallet from the Armiger and checks it, “appears so.”

“I saw some good weapons at one of those corner shops,” Noct crosses his arms, “thought I might check it out.”

“No, wait,” Prompto butts in, “there’s the old guy, the one who made us those ‘legendary’ weapons, remember?”

Ignis frowns, confused, but Noct sort of remembers, “oh yeah. The bald dude… what was it? Randy? Rudolph?”

“Randolph,” Prompto corrects him, sliding off the counter, “if you want good weapons, go to him. He said he’s got one last thing for us.”

“How do you remember that?” Noct stands as well, assuming that the last time he would’ve seen Randolph would’ve been ten years ago.

“I was wandering, earlier. Happened on him, where he gave me the whole lecture over again about the importance of something-or-other. I wasn’t really listening, but new weapons, so.”

“Worth a shot,” shrugs Noct, “think you can handle staying here for a bit?”

Ignis nods, “I think I can do that much. Be safe,” he walks to sit beside Gladio’s bed.

“Will do,” he replies, gesturing to Prompto to get his shoes on. The absence of voices that follow makes Noctis miss the way the four of them used to fit together. They’re like the missing pieces of four different puzzles now, all living in different worlds, “lets go, Prom.”

Prompto smiles stiffly and nods at him. Noct takes a moment to appreciate just how much better he looks ten years younger. Despite his tired expression and the defeated way he carries himself, he doesn’t look so run down and thin, he’s missing scars and bruises. He looks maybe twenty pounds heavier, and, best of all, he’s missing that horrific facial hair. Noct will have to make fun of him for that later.

“Stop staring into space, dude,” Prompto urges, “not getting any younger here.”

“I’m not- nevermind. Let’s just go.”

The walk out of the room in near silence, Noct buzzing with questions. What happened to Gladio? Why is Ignis acting so weird? What aren’t you telling me? Did you actually wash my sweater?

“Spit it out,” Prompto says when they reach the lobby, “and stop giving me that thousand-yard stare.”

“What-” Noct starts, then cuts himself off. How best to phrase this. He slows down and Prompto turns to face him, small frown on his face.

“Noct, it’s been ten years. You missed so much but. But you don’t have to be afraid to ask questions. Even if I can’t answer them.”

He nods and swallows, “right. Um, what happened to Gladio?”

Prompto just shakes his head, “that’s his story, man. What we went through, all of us, it was pretty… hellish, to say the least. We all have our issues.”

“I’m sorry,” Noct says quietly, searching his best friend’s face for… anything, really. Other than carefully guarded indifference.

“Don’t be,” comes the expected response, “not your fault.”

He turns around and Noctis follows him, but he can tell Prompto has something else he wants to say. He keeps opening and closing his mouth, eyebrows creased. They pass a few open shops and friendly people before Prompto finally decides to talk.

“Is… is there some sort of afterlife, you know, for us?”

Noct frowns, caught off-guard, “uh, I’m pretty sure. Yeah.”

Prompto swallows, and his throat clicks, “cause, well. I might be there pretty quick after you.”

The pause the follows is thick and heavy, Noct not really grasping the meaning of the words for a few seconds. When it sinks in it brings his heart down with it, “what?” He manages.

The answer comes quick and unfiltered, like Noct remembers him doing if he was ever nervous, “I haven’t told the guys yet. I didn’t want to- you know. Just cause you’re gonna go soon and I wanted to tell you right? No don’t- don’t look at me like that, what? It isn’t as bad as it sounds I-”

“Prompto,” he hesitates, struck by the helpless look on Prompto’s face, “what happened?”

He sighs, “well, you know how I’m. I’m basically an MT, right?”

“You’re not-”

Prompto stops him, “no, it’s true. Cause MTs don’t live that long. And because of, well, because I’m _me,_ I guess I don’t either.”

Noct doesn’t know what to say to that. It make sense, and he supposes that’s the worst part. If Prompto started rambling about something a little more ludicrous it might be easier to take. “How long?”

Prompto doesn’t answer, keeping his head down like he didn’t hear as they pass a more abandoned section of Lestallum.

Noctis grabs him arm to stop him, ignoring the flinch in response, “ _how long_ , Prompto.” His voice cracks at the edges. He’s filled with an emotion he can’t quite name. This isn’t how the story is suppose to go. He’s meant to pass and save the world from eternal darkness, he’s meant to see Luna again and find happiness the with her he couldn’t have in life. His friends are suppose to rejoice in the rising sun, be together and have long lives. They are not fated to be unhappy and traumatised, or meet untimely ends. It fills Noct with rage. There, that’s the emotion weighing in his gut. He’s angry. At Ardyn, for killing Luna and blinding Ignis. At Besithia, for not giving Prompto a longer life. At Bahamut, for promising a happy ending. And at himself, for believing any of it.

 

_There is his shield, who is broken from overuse._

_There is his advisor, who is lost in the dark._

_There is his sharpshooter, who is dead before he can live._

_This is his family, and this is all his fault._

 

“It’s not important,” Prompto eventually forces out, “can we just spend this time not talking about depressing shit? Please?”

Noct is about to argue back, but Prompto looks up and at him, and he sees all the anger and frustration reflected in his face. It dissolves his resolve, “yeah, okay. This discussion is not over, though.”

Prompto laughs then, and it barely moves his face, like someone forgot to animate in the emotion, “you got it, buddy.”

They finally find Randolph where he always seems to be, alone in a shady back street. He eyes the two of them as they approach, looking at them like they’re fresh meat, waiting to be devoured. He crows at them as they reach him, “legends! I see legends in you, boys, yes. Get me the last of what I need and I will forge you legends of your own!”

Noct glances to the side and sees Prompto struggling to keep a straight face, so he says, “uh, yeah. What do you need?”

Randolph’s hungry eyes try to bore a hole in him, “are you sure you’re up to the challenge?”

Noctis almost laughs aloud. He’s just spent ten godsdamned years in a bloody crystal, yeah, he thinks he’s qualified.

“We’re ready,” Prompto says, with more confidence than he probably feels.

Randolph spends and uncomfortable time just looking at the two of them, back and forth. “Yes, yes,” he says sadly, “I see fate has already grasped your souls. The two of you must collect for me the bones of a beast of great strength, and the blood of a lost soul.”  
“Uh, alright,” Noct blinks, “how much and where exactly?”

“Also what are we looking for?” Prompto adds.

“So many questions, so little time,” Randolph shakes his head sadly, “find me what I need!”

With that, Randolph, whom Noct is sure may be a few screws short, hobbles away.

“So I’m thinking Bussemand,” Prompto starts, “they’re pretty strong, right? Do daemons even have bones and blood?”

Noct shakes his head, “I’ve got a bad feeling about this, Prompto. I don’t trust him.”

Prompto snorts and turns around, gesturing for Noct to follow, “no one does, but what do we have to lose, right?”

 _Time._ Noctis thinks, mind skipping back to Bahamut and his biting words. “Is it worth it?” He asks instead.

“Maybe?” Prompto laughs, “you never know, it’s worth a shot, at least.”

“Back to the room then?”

“Sure.”

“Hey, Prompto?”

“Yeah?”

“You know you can, like, talk to me. About anything, right?” Noct shuffles, foot to foot, “I’m here.”

Prompto smiles, placing a hand hesitantly on Noct’s shoulder, “thanks. And, um, that goes both ways, ‘k? I know being in the crystal would’ve been shitty on your own.”

 

_There is Bahamut, telling him to stay longer, accept his fate._

_There are his best friends, aged past their years._

_There are ten years of his life stolen in a game of good and evil, gods and men._

_This is Noctis, King of Light, who is still afraid to die._

 

“I’ve got pretty thick skin,” he nudges his friend, “but yeah, thanks.”

“Thick skin,” Prompto snorts, “I’ve seen you nearly start crying when Ignis told you he put zucchini in his cake.”

This earns a punch to the shoulder, “to be fair, that was betrayal on Iggy’s part. It was my birthday, for Shiva’s sake.”

“He’s just looking out for your health, dude.”

The banter goes on and on, and before the two of them know it, they’re back at their room, and Noct’s heart is just a little lighter than before. He watches Prompto fumble with his key fondly. He’s missed this. He’s missed _them._ And the longer he stays here, the more it feels like he’s really been gone for ten years.

The door swings open with a loud screeching noise, making Noctis jump. Prompto shoots him a questioning look before mumbling an apology.

“We’re back,” Prompto calls into the seemingly empty room.

“Over here,” throws back Ignis’ accented voice, and Noct sees him and Gladio enjoying the porch, both looking rather mesmerised at the bright, cheery look of mid-day Lestallum. Him and Prompto make their way over, not saying a word. The four of them basking in the profoundness of the early sun. And it is profound, because it means different things to them in little ways. It’s something they’ve all lost.

And it’s something they’re going to get back.

 

Noct wakes at the end of the day in a cold sweat. Beside him, Prompto dozes blissfully. Gladio and Ignis are both asleep as well. He almost wishes one of them were awake, so he could distract himself from the image of Bahamut’s face, eyes burning into him with their intrusive scrutiny. He just wants someone to talk to, because his heart is racing like it was in the crystal, pounding while his brain fires a thousand thoughts per second at him.

Then he chides himself for being selfish. This whole trip is suppose to be lighthearted. He can’t go ruining this for the others. Besides, this will be all they will have after he’s gone. He rubs at his eyes, trying to rid them of the sleep that clings like spiders.

“Damn it,” he whispers, feeling angry tears prickle his eyes. Why can’t this be easy? Why can’t Bahamut get off his lazy godsdamned ass and kill Ardyn himself? Surely it isn’t that hard for a god to do.

The Draconian. Like draconian law. The name suits him well.

Stupid, stupid. This whole fucking thing is so ridiculous. Bahamut basically made Ardyn into what he is, and now he’s trying to get Noct to fix his giant fucking mess. For what? So he can play his little game with all his broken little toys? What’s the fucking point?

Maybe he just won't go back. Maybe this King of Light will be a coward and spend the rest of his days in the past, living the life he deserves. Maybe someone with less to lose will take this for him and end the darkness.

Maybe he’s just being wishful.

Noct _knows_ he’s just being wishful. Just like he knows none of that will happen. He’ll march off and lay down his life for his people, like he’s meant to.

And it fucking sucks.

“Hey, buddy?” Asks a soft voice from beside him. Noct turns from where he is sitting up and sees a half-awake Prompto staring at him with concern, propped up on one elbow, “you alright there?”

Damn it, he should have been quieter. He nods, “go back to bed, Prompto.”

“Not until you tell me what’s going on,” Prompto says, mindfully keeping his tone even and low.

“Just a nightmare,” he lays back down, refusing to look his friend in the eyes.

“Me too. Wanna talk about it?”

Noct rubs his hands over his face and sighs, “not really, no.”

Because how do you tell your closest friends that a big, angry god is threatening to strike you down if you don’t time travel right back to the future and die? Exactly, you don’t.

He only realizes that he’s shaking when a warm, comforting hand starts rubbing circles into his back, “we’ll figure it out. It’s okay.”

“No, it isn’t,” Noct shakes his head, “I’m not ready. I’m just not ready.”

Prompto stays quiet, but wraps him in a tight side-hug while Noct mutters apologies into the air. Eventually, he wiggles out of the embrace, avoiding eye-contact, “this was supposed to be an easy trip.”

“If things were easy, we wouldn’t be here at all,” Prompto’s eyes are fixed on the thin sheet of light reaching through the curtains as he speaks.

“How’d you do it?” Noct asks before he can think better of it, “when Ardyn had you. How’d you make it out?”

He smiles tightly, “easy,” he says, “some grumpy prince and his friends found me.”

Noct gives him a look, “not what I meant.”

“Noct-”

“Truth, Prompto. Please.”

Prompto huffs out a breath, “fine. You want honest? I never made it out, not really. I still go there, to Zegnautus, to the infantry facility, whatever. I couldn’t hunt for the first year after ‘cause the flashbacks were so bad and vivid, and I nearly got people killed. I can’t sleep without seeing _his_ face. Gods, Noct, I can’t even say his name.”

“But you’re still here,” Noct insists, trying to catch any beam of hope he can, “you’re still living.”

Prompto looks at him with something too close to pity. “There’s a line, between ‘living’ and just… ‘surviving’. I think I know where I am.”

Noctis hunches over. He can’t do this. He can’t do this anymore.

 

_This is Noctis, King of Light, who is still afraid to die._

  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay guys, I got really behind in bio and have my diploma next month. Next chapter WILL happen, but not as soon as I like.


	4. Hard Knock Life

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay! Had a diploma and now I'm in summer school sO no time to write  
> Also changed my profile name from noodlesnake idk if that's confusing or how it works but yay!  
> Also to everyone reading and commenting and kudo-ing it means a ton. I cry at every comment and kudo, so I hope ya'll are happy.  
> Also this chapter ended up being very dialogue heavy, but I think it's okay so we'll see!

It’s almost okay when nighttime comes now, Prompto thinks. He can almost pretend that he’s himself again. He almost has his weary, scar-ridden body back. He’s almost thirty years old, dying in an apocalyptic wasteland and hunting with his three friends.

Except one of his friends can see.

And one of his friends can’t take his eyes off the ground.

And his last friend is… actually here.

It’s dizzying, and it’s throwing him off-kilter. And damn it, he likes his routine. He likes getting up each morning with the knowledge that  _ hey, I might die today, and that’s alright.  _ But Noct’s back now and that… that changes a lot. He’s stuck in between how he thinks he should act and how he usually acts, trying to be cool headed and happy-go lucky at the same time. It’s making him look a little unstable, he thinks.

Really, he’s just happy to have his friend back. Even if said friend had them change into these elaborate, flashy Kingsglaive uniforms. Which are way too attention-grabbing, if you ask him. He isn’t able to fit his normal wristbands under the jacket sleeve, either. What if someone sees? What if they run into Ardyn, what will he say? What will  _ Prompto  _ say?

His hands clench around the steering wheel as he tries to bring himself back out of his head. He’s driving to kill some daemons. He’s going to kill some daemons. He is driving in the car, going to-

“Prompto!”

He jumps, startled, half turning towards Ignis, “huh?”

The other man sighs, “honestly, I have not the slightest clue how you haven’t driven us off the bloody road yet.”

“Yes, Ignis?” 

“I was asking if you have any clue where you’re going.”

“Oh, yeah. Sorry. It’s just- next curve right, then a few minutes on foot,” he explains, “it’s the same spot we had all those problems a few years ago, remember?”

Ignis hums, “ah, the ten supply carts that went missing? The crater, in the Kelbass grasslands, yes?”

“That’s the one. Since we couldn’t get to the problem quick enough back then, I figured we’d have a little revenge on the assholes now.”

“Seems reasonable enough,” Ignis replies, glancing to the back seat to get a glimpse of their two conked companions. Prompto can see them in the mirror, and gods, aren’t they a sight for sore eyes. Not that he’s much better, but the bags under Noct’s eyes are worrying, and spots of red are starting to peek through Gladio’s bandages.

“Do you think they’ll be awake by the time we get there, or do I get to have fun waking them up?”

Ignis laughs lightly and shakes his head, “in their state, I don’t think you could wake them if you tried.”

“You underestimate me, Iggy. I have  _ skills. _ ”

“Evidence to support remains to be seen.”

Prompto scoffs, “thanks for the vote of confidence. We’re here.”

The landscape is almost exactly the same here in ten years, minus all plant and animal life, of course. The lack of daemons is palpable, though. It’s almost as if the air is cleaner, and it’s easier to breathe. Feels like a storm might be coming, but that only adds to the coolness in his lungs.

Ignis turns around and shakes Noct’s knee. The prince doesn’t budge, so Prompto takes Ignis’ empty Ebony can and throws it directly at his face. Noctis wrinkles his nose and cracks open one eye, “what?”

“We’ve arrived,” Ignis says smoothly, turning to open the car door, “wake Gladio, will you?”

Prompto takes the lead once their party is more-or-less conscious, buzzing with energy. Nothing, in his opinion, beats the rush of adrenaline before a clean, easy fight. And nothing will beat the satisfaction of reaping the reward afterwards. Gladio trails closests behind him, with Ignis and Noct side-by-side behind Gladio. They seem to be having an intense conversation, but the only thing Prompto can hear is  _ ‘as long as they stay dreams’. _ It doesn’t make much sense to him, but he’s pretty happy to have heard that much. He’s an avid gunslinger, after all. It’s only fair that after years and years of using his loud guns in loud situations that he loses almost all of his ability to hear. He’s trained himself to read lips by now, and having his hearing back now is… it’s pretty great.

“Are you listening?” Gladio snaps from behind him.

Prompto stops and blinks. They’re almost at the edge of the crater. Damn. “Uh, what, sorry?”

“I asked if we had a game plan.”

“One wouldn’t be a horrible idea,” Ignis nods, eyeing the pit with no small amount of wariness.

“Um, well, it’s a psychomancer, so I’m thinking that Gladio is our best bet, with his greatsword. And Noct, some ice magic would be good too, if you have it. If not that, then fire is the next best bet.”

To Prompto’s delight, Noct almost looks impressed, “alright, so we hit it with a flask, Gladio goes in when it’s distracted, then… just, do whatever?”

“A well put plan, Highness,” Prompto teases, earning a sharp look, “but yeah, that’ll do it.”

The four of them crouch on the outskirts of the crater, waiting for any sign of the daemon. It’s about an hour before the thing finally shows, and by then, there’s wind and rain coming down so hard they can barely see. The chill isn’t helping, and if Prompto isn’t mistaken, it feels like the freezing sheets beating down might turn to snow, maybe even hail. He’s almost beginning to feel grateful for the long sleeves of the royal outfits. Almost.

“Are you sure we should go through with this?” Ignis practically has to yell over the sound of the storm.

“There it is!” Noct points. He’s farthest from Ignis now, so he must not have heard him. He stands, seemingly not bothered by the storm, taking a few steps forward for range. In front of them now, the storm blowing around him with murderous intent, he looks so regal, almost otherworldly. The ball of elemental energy in his hand lights up the side of his body bright blue, and it’s like he’s touching the astral realm. Like he already is half part of the dead, a man who’s been claimed by death but cannot let go.

Prompto takes a breath, watching as Noctis pulls his arm back and cast the ice magic at the psychomancer. The entire pit glows for a moment, the daemon in the middle of it all. It’s arms are spread, and it lets out an agonizing scream that can be heard even over the storm. The bright blue brilliance burns out almost as quickly as it appeared, and they’re thrown back into the darkness. For a moment, everything is still. The sounds of the storm fades to the background, and Noct’s silhouette is facing the grotesque figure of the daemon. The silence is disturbing, and feels like it lasts forever. In reality, it couldn’t have been more than a second before Noct shouts-

“ _ Now,  _ Gladio!”

With a resounding roar, Gladio charges forward at the unbalanced psychomancer. He hits it square in the chest with his great sword. When it reflexively bends over, he strikes it over the head with his shield. Ignis joins the battle by throwing his dagger at its appendages. It occurs to Prompto that Ignis is probably the best equipped for this battle. He doesn’t need to see past the rain and through the dark to be able to hit his mark. Then it occurs to him that he’s the least suited for this battle. He can’t hear or see shit- and the possibility of hitting a friend is a little too high for his liking. He’s going to have to get close so that doesn’t happen.

Prompto follows Ignis down the slope, calling his gun to his hand. The cold metal sits heavy and reassuring in his hand. The shadow of the psychomancer is lit up only by the blue flashes of Noct’s warping. Him and Gladio seem to have a pretty good system going, the simplicity of brute force and little tact leaving the daemon with no choice but to go on the defense. The thing hunches in on itself, like it’s trying to protect itself by being a smaller target. It isn’t until Ignis shouts a warning that no one else can hear that Prompto realizes it’s preparing to attack. 

“Noct!” He screams, running forward to push him out of the way. Ignis sprints for Gladio at the same time. Prompto manages to ram Noct before the burst of flaming energy can hit him. Unfortunately, that leaves Prompto standing in his friend’s spot instead, and he has time to send a quick apology to Noct before it hits him, sending him flying back into a rock. He hits with an audible crack. His mouth opens to scream at the pain, but he finds he doesn’t have the breath to do so. The scene around him is swimming, a mix of blacks and blues that match the colours he feels forming on his back. Moving a hand to his chest and side, he finds it’s been badly burnt. 

_ Out,  _ Prompto thinks to himself,  _ get out now.  _

So, with what feels like an insurmountable level of effort, he manages to half-stand and drag himself around the rock, away from the battle. Great, he couldn’t even get one shot in before he fucks up royally. Everything starts to sound incredibly far away, drowned out by the ringing in his ears that is oh-so reminiscent of what life sounds like a few years from now. He lets his body slide in a crack in the rock, barely big enough for him but safe enough. 

“Fuck,” he breathes, trying to prod his side. It’s bad. Like, that’s-going-to-scar-or-need-a-doctor- _ now _ kind of bad. And Prompto definitely can’t deal with it like this. Even closing his eyes might mean passing out.

_ This is how I die. _

It’s not a fun thought, but it isn’t a new one, either. Prompto remembers thinking it whilst trapped in a certain red-headed psychopath’s clasp. That isn’t a fun thought either. He needs to stop thinking. And at the rate he’s going, that might just happen. 

The storm is still raging, but it’s almost like it’s happening to someone else now. No, that can’t be him sitting on the cold dirt. No, because his mind decides to snag on the mental image of Ardyn. Ardyn, who is grasping his face in an iron grip. His name is being called, but he squeezes his eyes shut and ignores it, because if he responds it means he’s caught. Ardyn’s going to catch him and do unthinkable things to him. He is going to die.

Prompto feels his thoughts spinning out of control, disconnected and nonsensical. Then something is being pressed into his hand, and he’s being forced to squeeze it, and it shatters in his hand. The fog in his head starts to clear up. A potion. He was hurt in the daemon’s blast and- that’s right, he hid behind the rock. Opening his eyes, he meets the concerned face of his best friend, not two inches from his own. Life filters back in. The storm is gone, but it’s still night out.

“Sorry,” Prompto croaks, mouth dry, “did we kill it?”

Noct’s face goes weird, kinda scrunchy, “yeah. You okay?”

He nods, gesturing for Noct to move out of the way, “peachy,” he says, forcing his way out of the crevice.

“You don’t seem peachy,” Gladio tells him, moving from behind Noct to help him to his feet. Ignis stands by to assist. 

Prompto looks up at him and- yeah, Gladio can see right through him, can’t he? Gingerly, he touches his side. The potion did most of the work, but now that the adrenaline is fading, it’s starting to burn. He stutters out an answer, “I just. Sorry, I’m fine now. I guess I passed out from the blast.”

He very well did not pass out, but Noct and Ignis must take his expression and tone for something else, because the two of them nod and squeeze his shoulder. Shit, Prompto hasn’t had a flashback like that in years. The hell happened?

“Where did the big storm go?” He asks, holding Gladio’s arm for support, “Ramah finally get tired?” 

Noct’s face goes stormy (ha), “I’m not sure that was Ramah.”

Prompto’s brain skips around the words, “huh?” Because okay, he’s missing something here. Maybe it’s the sudden exhaustion he’s feeling, but the words don’t make sense. What’s Noct trying to say?

Ignis and Noctis share a glance. They use to do that a lot when they were younger, sharing words without ever opening their mouths. Prompto kinda missed that. Huh.

“Back to the room first. I’ll explain in a minute. But not here.”

Noct says it like he’s holding his breath, waiting for something to strike him down. Maybe someone will. Would it be like one big lightning bolt, or would he just fall over? Nah, he wouldn’t just fall dead, the gods are way too dramatic for that.

“Hey, Prom. Look alive,” Gladio leans to speak gently in his ear, “we’re going.”

He looks up, seeing Ignis and Noct already a few steps ahead. They look like they might be arguing, but Prompto is really too tired to tell. Potions tend to have that effect, sapping your energy in return for your health.

“Prompto,” Gladio says again. He looks worried. Why does Gladio always look worried when he looks at him?

“Yeah, yeah,” he mumbles, “‘m coming.” Prompto nearly topples over when he tries to break away from Gladio. To his humiliation, Gladio has to keep his arm around him so he doesn’t completely crumple.

“You okay?” He’s asked quietly.

Prompto sighs, checking to make sure Noct isn’t listening. “No, not really.”

“Ardyn?”

Prompto has to stop himself from flinching away at the name. Astrals, he’ll never be rid of the scars that man has left him, will he? “Yeah. It was… it was him.” He wants to add more, about Zegnautus. About being tortured within an inch of his life again and again and  _ again _ . But. But the words catch, halfway off his tongue and he stops talking. Gladio has his own shit, he doesn’t need Prompto’s bloody mess to clean up too.

“Wanna talk about it?” Gladio asks. His voice is so soft now. And there it is, a lifeline, and Prompto is too damn stubborn to take it.

“Not really, sorry,” he mutters, wanting this conversation to be done. He is still having trouble forming coherent thoughts. He is so, so tired. He is sagging, bit by bit, until almost all of his weight is resting on Gladio. The bigger man lets out a huff before scooping Prompto up like he has a thousand times before when he’s been injured. The last thought he has before sleep takes him is that Gladio is going to have to wash his new Kingsglaive coat from the blood now. He passes out murmuring ‘sorry’ over and over again.

_______

Ah, light. Simple, precious sunlight. Prompto hasn’t opened his eyes yet, but it filters through his lids anyway, and he can feel the warmth on his face. 

“That isn’t what I’m saying, I just-”

“So what, Bahamut hasn’t been threatening our fucking lives over this-”

“Noctis, you should’ve told us-”

“I know! I just wanted to protect you from-”

Hm, yes. Real life seems to be filtering in as well. Prompto doesn’t feel like hearing what the three of them are saying, because it sounds really bad, and he doesn’t need that shit in his life right now. He rolls onto his side, and immediately gasps out in pain, the wounds from yesterday (was it yesterday?) flaring to life again. His mind kinda blanks, because the next thing he knows is comforting hands in his hair as he fights for breath, and the burning in his eyes from the sudden light.

“Fuck,” he says once he gets his breathing under control.

Noct huffs out a laugh, “you scared the shit out of me.”

“Yeah, no, never doing that again. Thank you, no thank you,” Prompto sits up slowly, Gladio’s hand on his back to steady him, “so what’s happening?”

The room goes silent, everyone’s eyes travelling to Noct automatically. Noct, who looks like he’d rather be in the world’s most painful board meeting than here right now. 

“Um. Well-”

“We have to go back,” Gladio interrupts, pretty much spitting the words out at Noct, “because apparently, the god of fucking gods is trying to kill us for beginning here. And our buddy Noct here neglected to tell us that.”

“They were only dreams at the time,” he protests, glaring back at Gladio, “you’d expect a guy who’s been in a gods damned crystal for ten bloody years to have some weird fucking dreams after getting out. I didn’t know he was actually going to throw that storm at us. Or do anything, really.”

“I swear to the gods, you haven’t changed,” Gladio points a finger at Noct. This is awkward for Prompto, as Gladio has to reach over him to do so.

“And what the hell is that supposed to mean?”

“Enough, please,” Ignis tries, but his voice is tired. Prompto gets a look at him, sitting at the end of the bed, and hoo boy, it is not good. He’s got a bruise covering most of his shoulder and collarbone, and his arm sits in a sling at his side. It looks like it’s been dislocated. But worst of all, he looks defeated. Prompto’s seen that look every time Ignis runs into a piece of rubble, or stumbles in battle. He looks like he’s already given up. It’s a very un-Ignis look that gives Prompto a good idea of just how serious this situation is.

“You’re still making excuses. You would rather ignore a  _ god _ and risk all of us dying than give up a few days to relax.”

The yelling is starting to give Prompto a headache, so he pushes the covers aside and places his feet on the floor. Noctis is still pushing back and Gladio already forming a response, but Ignis,  _ thank the gods for Ignis _ , moves over to his side and helps him stand. The two of them hobble out of the room, Prompto leaning heavily on Ignis’ good shoulder, the others oblivious to their leaving.

Thankfully there’s a few chairs only a couple of steps from the room, because it occurs to Prompto that he does not have a shirt on, only sweatpants. Ignis is fortunate enough to have his tank top. The two of them sit down, and Prompto watches as Ignis lets his eyes close in a small moment of peace. They sit like this for what feels like forever, comfortable silence that says more than words ever will. It sort of reminds Prompto of after Noct disappeared in the crystal. They had all just… sat down. The three of them, beaten and broken beyond fixing, sat on the cold metal and stared ahead. No one said anything, no one made a sound. 

“Hey Iggy,” Prompto starts. He needs a good excuse to get out of his own head.

Ignis opens his eyes (and that alone still makes Prompto’s stomach do flops) and turns his head, “yes?”

“I- I still have my camera. Want to look at some pictures?”

Ignis sends him a look, quiet and searching. He sees this as what it is, a desperate grab at some sort of comfort, or healing or anything. Because Ignis knows it’s this or Prompto finds a bar to forget at, shirt or no.

“I do,” Ignis says, moving his chair beside Prompto’s slowly. The camera is almost too fast when it powers up. Prompto is expecting the slow, broken whine it cranks out in the future, when he has just a moment to himself to reminisce. Now, the pristine screen lights up quickly, showing them the options menu. Prompto’s fingers navigate to the ‘photos’ option stiffly. The first photo, the  _ very first  _ photo nearly has him gasping. It isn’t like this is the first time he’s seen it, but context, right? He isn’t alone in a tent or crusty room staring at a screen and detached, he’s with a friend,  _ safe.  _ And Prompto laughs, because he didn’t even take the photo, and somehow, that’s funny.

The sound catches Ignis off guard, and he whips his head up to stare at Prompto, “everything alright?”

Prompto stifles his chuckling, “yeah, sorry. It’s just- nothing, nothing.”

The photo of the four of them in front of the car is making him feel weird. Not a bad weird, per say, just off. He flips to the next one. Then the next, and the next. Soon enough the two of them have dropped the strange mood in turn for swapping funny stories about each photo. Some they forget, some they make up, and others are just too ridiculous to be fake.

“And he just sort of- just sort of flips over,” Prompto wheezes, “Astrals, his  _ face. _ ”

Ignis smiles and pushes up his glasses, “some of these photos are making me question the quality of your camera, Prompto. Noctis’ head was quite literally up his-”

“I swear it isn’t the camera! I think Noct is just like that.”

“Isn’t he just.”

Their journey plays out like a mini movie in front of them. From marathon fishing in Gladin to chocobo riding in Caem to graceful posing in Altissia to… to. Prompto’s brain sort of does little loops around the next pictures. The pictures are good, but the train really isn’t. Like, at all. Ignis doesn’t sense his discomfort, rather absorbed in the picture of the places he’s been but never seen.

“Drab, wouldn’t you say?” He comments first. Ignis is Ignis, after all.

Prompto breathes out a laugh, “yeah, like,  _ red?  _ The hell were they thinking.”

And he pauses before pausing the button to move on, finger hovering like it might burn him.

“You know, I don’t have much else after this, so-”

“Come now,” Ignis insists, laying a hand on Prompto’s arm, “thirty photos left, and these I have yet to see.”

“Okay,” he says quietly. And the next photo makes Ignis tighten his grip on Prompto’s arm. The photo isn’t bad, if only slightly blurred from shaking hands, but it’s just the empty hallway of the Magitek facility. There’s pictures of Pryna, and some of the vast scapes of snow. After that is one of him and Aranea, both of them looking like they had seen better days (and they hadn’t seen anything yet). The next photo is a selfie, it’s him next to Barbarus, him looking crazed and the beast looking… well, fired up. Aranea is in the background, ready to strike. Then there is arguably the worst advised picture he’s ever taken, while on the snow mobile. Immortalis is reared up, ready to attack, but gods damn, Prompto never wanted to forget what he accomplished that day. Or was going to accomplish, at the time. 

Only to have it all taken away. He doesn’t like the next picture, but never can convince himself to delete it. After he left Aranea, he snapped a photo of the path ahead, a sort of sentimentality for new beginnings. In the distance, not too far but still on the path, a dark figure stands lazily, hands on hat and hip, waiting.

“Prompto, is this when…”

He flips to the next, and last one. It’s a crooked shot of Hammerhead, taken about four years ago. It was asked of him from Vyv, and delivered for a healthy sum of gil. He only did it once, though. It got pretty painful to hold the camera without so many memories.

“That’s it,” he says, “that’s everything.”

“I am so sorry, Prompto,” and when he meets his eyes, all Prompto can find is pity.

“Don’t,” he takes him arms away and breaks eye contact, “don’t- don’t apologize for things you think I went through. You don’t know. You have no clue what I’ve done.”

“Tell me,” comes the soft reply.

“I don’t want your pity.”

“How about someone who’ll listen?”

Prompto shakes his head, “why?”

“Because you’re trying to hold all this weight alone, when you’ll find others who are more than willing to share it with you.”

Damn, he’s good. “I know.”

Ignis doesn’t get the chance to pick at his scabs any more, as Noct opens the door of their room and peeks out at them with a guilty look.

“Ah- sorry guys, we’re done.”

“You’re not,” Ignis replies matter-of-factly, “but I could use an Ebony, and they are inside.”

Prompto watches with reverence at the sass with which Ignis stands and saunter past Noct into the room. He almost laughs aloud at the blank, yet stunned expression on his face.

“So, are you gonna fill me in or…?”

Noct sighs and rubs his face, “Bahamut wants us to go back. And he’s getting angry.”

“Yikes.”

“How are you feeling?”

“Great.”

Noct stares at him like he’s grown a second head, then his expression softens. “Sorry.”

“For what?” This feels like Zegnautus.

“The fight yesterday. I shouldn’t have been so reckless,” he laughs sharply, “ten years and I still haven’t learned.”

“Me too, bud. But, uh, I kinda jumped in myself. Not really your fault.”

“I dragged you into all of this.”

“Couldn’t have stopped me from tagging along in the first place.”

“I want to go home, Prompto.” Ah, jeez. He sounds so sad now, it’s kinda breaking Prompto’s heart a bit, “but, you know. I guess I get to do that when I’m dead.”

“I bet the afterlife is pretty great.”

“You think?”

“Sure. Bet they got lots of- lots of fruit. Yeah, like apricots and peaches. Stuff you only get in Insomnia. And champagne. The fancy shit Ignis used to buy,” Prompto rambles on, caught in his own fantasy, “maybe they have actual beds, like feather ones without the springs poking out. Or water beds! I’ve always wanted a water bed.”

He looks up for a moment and sees Noct smiling at him, tears in his eyes, “that sounds nice. I guess we’re going to find out pretty soon, eh?”

Prompto nods, not really trusting himself to speak. Not when the tears in his own eyes are dangerously close to spilling over.

“Meet me there, won’t you?” Noct asks.

“Yeah, of course. ‘Ever at your side’, remember?” 

Noct puts a hand on his shoulder and squeezes, “I remember. Nothing can ever be simple, can it?”

“What do you mean?”

“I wish I could hear you say that and not think about where we were and why we were there. The first time you said that, I mean.”

“Oh.”

“You were gone for weeks, Prom.”

“You were gone for years.”

“Stop avoiding the conversation.”

“I see no conversation.”

“Smartass,” Noct pulls him to his feet.

“Hey, at least I’m smart.” And just like that, he has successfully derailed the conversation. It’s a skill, really.

Noct laughs, and it’s a light and airy laugh. One that doesn’t betray the gravity of the situation. “C’mon. Let’s go inside and try to deal with this like decent human beings.”

Prompto snorts and leans on Noct as they shuffle their way back to the room, “we haven’t changed that much, dude. Don’t get your hopes up.

“Yeah, well. You’ve changed enough.” Ah, shit. Noct is giving him a weird look now. Prompto hates weird looks like that, it usually means he’s done something wrong, and now his friend is upset.

“I’m less cheesy, that’s about it.” Prompto tries, “I mean, I make way better jokes now, right?”

Noct huffs and rolls his eyes, stopping at the door, “yeah, keep telling yourself that.”

“I will!” He quips back.

Noct places his hand on the doorknob before Prompto stops him, suddenly feeling very panicked.

“Noct, wait,” he says, but something stops him suddenly.

Noctis turns to stare at his face, “you okay?”

“I’m… Noct, are we doing the right thing here?”

“What?”

“There has to be a better way to kill… kill the darkness. Bahamut has to be wrong, it doesn’t feel right.” tears prick the corners of his eyes again. Why he’s getting emotional about it now, he doesn’t know. Something just feels so  _ wrong  _ about this whole thing, and dread is settling like a  one ton weight in his stomach.

Noctis smiles at him, “I know, Prom. I wish there was another way but…” he trails off, like he doesn’t want to finish his thoughts.

“But  _ what  _ Noct?”

His friend seems to give up and pulls Prompto into a tight hug, barely minding his injuries, but Prompto doesn’t mind. Noctis’ shoulders shake with silent sobs, clutching Prompto like a lifeline.

“Woah- hey, buddy? Hey, it’s okay…” it takes him a moment to remember to hug back, rubbing soothing circles in the other’s back, “we’ll figure it out, right? We always do.”

“Not this time,” Noct croaks, “I’m so sorry, Prompto. Not this time.”

“Okay,” he responds softly as Noct holds him tighter.

“Are you angry?”

“No. Why, should I be?”

“Yes.”

Prompto buries his face in the space between Noct’s neck and shoulder, trying to even out his breathing. 

This kinda sucks.


	5. And Everything In Between

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tw for suicide mentions

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Holy crap I'm sure this is getting old, but really, every comment and kudo on this work have been so amazing, and you guys have honestly made this worth the effort and time  
> Things are looking up, I got a job, I just finished summer school, finally finished making a rainbow toque (one year later lol) and I submitted (slightly) gay ffxv fanfiction for my religion final project (i posted it on here but don't read it it's really bad)  
> Please feel free to message me on writing or just for ranting about anything @_jacks_hit_ on instagram, I'd love to chat  
> Thank you guys again <3  
> -Jack

Gladio is _pissed._

At this point, he isn’t even sure what he’s pissed at. Maybe at Noct, for not telling them that they’re angering Bahamut. And damn, is the god angry. But then he thinks _good._ Fuck that guy for trying to take his family away from him. So he’s mad at Bahamut. And Prompto and Ignis, maybe. Those assholes need to get their fucking shit together. Or at least try. Gladio’s at least trying, he thinks.

Some would beg to differ, after his argument with Noctis. Those people had not heard most of his argument.

“You would rather ignore a _god_ and risk all of us dying than give up a few days to relax.” Gladio is seething now. How _dare_ he start keeping secrets. Not now, not like this.

“You know damn well this is more than just a vacation.” No one says anything when Prompto and Ignis stagger their way out of the room.

“It’s a goodbye.”

“It’s a funeral,” Noctis glares at him. It knocks Gladio back a bit, because Noct looks so young. He’s reminded of the expression he used to give in training, every time Gladio kicked his ass. Noctis was so young then, and he had the biggest baby cheeks.

Gladio sees that in front of him now.

His _funeral._

“I don’t want to fight, Gladio.” What an old voice for such a young face. What an old expression on it too. 

He swallows down his pain, “me neither.”

“For what it’s worth, I wish it didn’t have to be like this.”

“Yeah, that’s worth nothing,” Gladio snorts, “but I appreciate the sentiment.” 

Noctis laughs. Gladio wishes it didn’t sound so heavy. “We need to figure something out.”

“Sounds pretty simple to me, we have to go back,” Gladio nods. It feels right, to be able to return to his older body. He misses his scars. “What else is there to figure out?”

Noct massages the bridge of his nose between thumb and forefinger, “I- okay, this is stupid but. I feel like something is missing, right? Something big and this trip is supposed to give us time to figure it out.”

Gladio frowns, “the trip was _your_ idea.”

Noct stares at the crumpled bed sheets beneath him. Gladio looks hard at the other man, and starts chuckling uncontrollably. Not because anything is funny, no. Because he cannot _fucking believe this._

Noct looks up, startled, “what?”

“You _bastard!”_ Gladio shouts, “you fucking…. fucking…” he can’t think of the right word.

“Excuse me?”

“Who told you to take us back in time?” Gladio pokes a finger in his chest, feeling his anger soar again, “was it a god? Shiva? Ifrit?!”

“What? No!” Noct starts, “I. I don’t know who it was.”

“Oh dear gods,” Gladio is very close to punching Noctis, funeral or no, “man or woman?”

“Uh, woman, I think.”

“Young, old? I’m not playing twenty questions here, Noct.”

“Young. She actually looked like Luna… but her dress looked like it was from an old painting, that sort of era,” Noct shrugs, “I couldn’t see a lot of her. She was surrounded with yellow light, again, like Luna.”

“And? What did she say?”

“That… that we are mistaken. Our enemy is not the Accursed, but a friend. She said to learn what we could from the ‘safety of the past’.”

“So this random chick said that Ardyn is not the enemy. And to time travel back to find this… this ‘common enemy’. And you _listened to her?”_

“When you put it like that-”

“It doesn’t matter how I put it! We need to go back, now.”

“Gladio-”

“Nope. No fucking way, Noct. We can’t mess with this shit, do you have any idea what Bahamut could do to us if he wanted to?”

“Yeah, I do, actually.”

“Then use your damn head, Noct. This isn’t worth the entire world,” Gladio stares at the hard line of Noct’s mouth. This is hard as hell, he knows. It hurts him too, to say this.

“It is to me,” Noctis says quietly. “It is to me.”

“What you want doesn’t matter,” Gladio tries to be understanding, because a vulnerable Noct is so very rare. But he also needs Noct to just accept this and let go, because it’ll be easier on all of them in the end.

Noct clears his throat, wiping at his face with the back of his hand, “has it ever?”

“No, it hasn’t.” Gladio shakes his head, trying not to feel sorry for himself or the situation, “I would start getting my shit together, if I were you.”

“I don’t have any shit.”

“Make up with Prompto and Ignis.”

“We haven’t been arguing?” Noct looks up at him, making eye contact. Gladio sees the same rage he saw when Regis died.

“Say what you want to say to them is what I mean. You won’t have another chance.”

“Fuck,” Noct drops his head, clearly upset. Some petty, bitter part of Gladio thinks he deserves it for hiding things. Ten-years-older Gladio sees a man who has been shattered again and again until he can finally obey.

“That about sums it up,” he supplies, unsure now what else to say. It’s probably for the better, if he had too much to say he’d never get it all out. “Go get the others. Please.”

What a concept. Him, saying ‘please’.

Things really have changed.

As his charge leaves, Gladio stands and starts picking up things from around the room. Ignis and Prompto’s torn, bloodied Kingsglaive coats and vests. Ignis’ glasses. Noct’s knee brace and cape. A bloody towel from Prompto’s chest and side. His own bloody bandages. Ignis walks in soon after Noct leaves, watching him make piles of things for a while.

“Going to just stand there?” Gladio asks, “or are you going to give me a hand.”

“May I remind you I dislocated my shoulder?”

“Suck it up.”

“Saving _you._ ”

Gladio laughs, “alright, so I owe you one. Jeez.”

“More than one, by my count,” Ignis smiles at him. Gods, Gladio missed that damn smile, the one where he can see his eyes crinkle at the corners, eyes bright with mirth. 

“How about I do laundry and we call it even?” Gladio moves over beside Ignis, trying to take in his face at its happiest.

Ignis studies him back, committing his face to memory for different, more permanent reasons, “I suppose that’s fair,” he hesitates, always a bit too perceptive, “something on your mind, Gladio?”

“You could say that.” He frowns at the floor, picking out specks of blood on it. He can’t tell if it’s his, Prompto’s or Ignis’. Probably a combination of all three. But not Noct’s, not yet. “We have to go back.”

Ignis stares at him and raises an eyebrow, “oh?”

“We’re messing with shit by being here,” Gladio grabs his friend’s good arm. For support or to comfort, he’s not sure.

“Bahamut, I understand. What did Noct have to say?”

Gladio coughs out a laugh, “you’re okay with this? Iggy, you’re going to lose you sigh-”

Ignis cuts him off with sharp words, “I am well aware of what will happen. I knew what I was walking into, you know.”

Deciding to let his guard down, Gladio moves his hand to Ignis’ face. He’s always looked good without glasses. He cups his jaw gently, feeling the tight muscles there, “you don’t have to be strong all the time.”

The lines of Ignis’ face waver, confusion, then sadness, washing over his features like a wave. Slowly, he leans into Gladio’s warm embrace, shaking ever so slightly, “I can’t lose him, Gladio,” he breathes, “not again.”

Gladio rubs soothing circles around his back, chin resting on the top of his head, “all we can do is keep going.”

“And do what?”

Gladio’s wondered the same thing. Their entire purpose is to protect that man, and once he’s gone… it isn’t a fun thought. 

“Get a job, I guess.”

Ignis sniffles, “that’s the best you can do?”

“Hey, it’s a start.”

“Where would we work then? Reconstruction? Government?”

“Nah, I was thinking more mundane. Like a little business or something.”

Ignis makes a hum of approval, “a little cafe, then.”

“I could make coffee, you could make the food. Sandwiches and stuff. Prompto could wait tables.”

“Yes, let’s do that,” Ignis whispers. Gladio feels tears soaking his tank top, but he doesn’t mind. His own roll down his face with the knowledge of everything they’re going to lose. Going back was a mistake, like ripping off the bandaid as slow as they could when they could’ve just got it done with.

“‘The Lazy Prince’.”

Ignis actually snorts, “yes, that’s suitable.”

They stay like that for a good few minutes, Gladio’s face buried in Ignis’ hair. Ignis wrapped tight in his arms and clinging for dear life with one arm. Eventually Gladio pulls away, hands moving to grip either side of Ignis’ face, whose own hand snakes over Gladio’s.

“You guys,” he starts, but abruptly stops. He isn’t sure why, but this is feeling like goodbye to a lot more than just Noct. “You guys- gods. You made my job worth having.”

Ignis looks up at him, “did we?”

“You gave me something worth protecting.”

“I love you too, Gladio.”

“Yeah, yeah. Alright,” he leans his forehead against Ignis’, nose to nose, “we’ll get through this. We always do.”

“I know.”

The sound of the door opening pulls them apart, and they go back to standing at the counter like nothing had happened. Gladio doesn’t know why he finds it so easy to open up to Ignis. Whether it’s because their common interest in Noctis or because they just click, he’ll never know. But Ignis is closer to him than anyone, and he knows they’re something special, something rare.

Noctis helps Prompto shuffle through the door. Both of them are staring at the floor, red-eyed. Huh, maybe Noct took his advice and talked to Prompto. He watches as he gracelessly dumps his friend on the bed. 

Probably not.

Gladio grabs Ignis’ hand and squeezes.

“Back to Caem,” Noct says, voice flat, “where we began.”

No one says anything. Gladio watches as Noct tries to help Prompto into his shirt. He can’t let go of Iggy. It feels too much like goodbye and he hates it. He hates how afraid he is of losing these three people.

“I’m going on a walk before we go,” Gladio announces, releasing Ignis’ hand and moving away with little warning.

“I’m in,” Prompto stands, balancing himself on the bedside table.

“No way, you can’t even stand.”

“I’ll manage,” he insists, “one last time, c’mon.”

Gladio sighs but gives in, “fine, but don’t hold me up.”

“I won’t,” he says, hobbling painfully over to Gladio. He wouldn’t let him come with, but it is a chance of a lifetime, so it seems a little cruel to leave him behind.

Ignis and Noct say nothing as they leave. Just as Gladio shuts the door, he sees Iggy crack open a can of Ebony with shaking hands. His hands almost never shake.

“So, big guy, how are you holding up?” Prompto says after almost a minute of silent walking.

“You join me to pick my brain?”

“Maybe a little,” he admits sheepishly, “but mostly to get some air.”

“Smoking does not in fact count as ‘getting some air’.”

Prompto rolls his eyes, “o’, ye of little faith.”

“Am I wrong?”

“...no.” Smiling sweetly, Prompto takes a pack of cigarettes out of his pocket along with a lighter, “I’m sure you won’t mind.”

“Oh, I will,” Gladio frowns as his friend lights one and takes a drag. He’d never say it, but he worries about the kid. 

“You didn’t answer my question,” he points a finger at Gladio’s face, “stop avoiding things.”

“Hypocrite.”

“Gladio.”

“What?”

Prompto sticks his tongue out, “I want to know what your whole ‘I’m gonna be and idiot and nearly get myself killed’ shtick was about.”

“I had it handled,” he tries.

“Yup, you did. So why let them have a go at you?”

Fuck, it seems so stupid now, looking back. How is going to explain to Prompto how gods damn weak he feels in this body? None of the battle scars he should have, a simple reminder of the people he failed to protect. Prompto’s looking at him curiously, yet another person he couldn’t save. Now look at him, cigarette dangling from his lips, sunken eyes and, well, he has his own scars. Even if Gladio can’t see them now, he sometimes catches Prompto rubbing his nose where it broke (blaming Ardyn for that one), as if now marvelling its current straightness. 

“Felt like I was missing something,” he answers gruffly.

“Immense, constant pain?”

Gladio’s face twitches in amusement, “no shortage of that.”

“Scars?”

“You got a pretty perceptive head on those shoulders, you know.”

“Thanks!”

“Now shut up,” Gladio nudges him, feeling only a little bad when he stumbles, “and walk.”

For once he listens, and the two of them take in the sights they’ve seen only a thousand times before, but barely like this. Gladio tries not to recognise the cars they end up using in the barricade. He tries not to see some of these people as bodies in bags, missing arms and legs and- nope. It only reminds him of how far they fell.

They end up at the outlook, the midday sun making a truly stunning scene. It takes his breath away, more so than the first time he saw the underwater ceiling in the Vesperpool. He’s distracted enough not to notice the presence behind them.

“Well, well, well. Fancy meeting you here, hm?” 

Gladio and Prompto whip around. Ardyn stands behind them, hands on his hips and exuding lazy confidence. His face and tone says something different, though. Ardyn’s brows are slightly drawn, and his posture is a little stiff.

 _Unimportant,_ Gladio’s brain tells him, _he should be in Altissia right now._

Distantly, he notices Prompto back away and summon his gun behind his back, scowl on his face. Gladio is two seconds away from calling his own sword, but not wanting to cause a scene. 

“What the hell do you want,” he growls.

“Oh, such malice! Fear not, I mean you no harm. Now, where is the rest of your posse?”

“None of your damn business. What. Do. You. _Want._ ” Gladio moves to cover Prompto more, not entirely sure why he feels the need to. Prompto can protect himself, after all.

“I’ve merely come to deliver a message,” Ardyn spreads his hands, shooting them an amused look, “I do so wish our dear prince was here to receive it. It is for him, after all.”

“Spit it out.”

“It says to, ahem, ‘realize that The Sword is a weapon not of peace’.”

“And what the hell is that supposed to mean?” He says, stepping into Ardyn’s space, “message from who?”

Ardyn doesn’t move away, shaking his finger back and forth in Gladio’s face, “ah,ah,ah. I can’t tell you yet, it would ruin the surprise.”

“You’re lying,” Prompto’s voice sounds out, small but without wavering, “you don’t know who it is either.”

All of Ardyn’s attention turns to him, and he brushes past Gladio to see him better, “bold statement.” His eyes flicker to Prompto’s wrist, which isn’t covered. Prompto seems to realize this too, but doesn’t do anything about it. Ardyn’s hand reaches out to touch Prompto’s chin, “sure you want to stand by it?”

Gladio grabs Ardyn’s wrist before he can make contact, “don’t,” he warns, eyes catching Prompto’s, who stands stiff as a board. “Tell us the truth.”

Pulling his hand away, Ardyn grins smoothly at the two of them, “forgive me, I was merely curious.”

“Well?”

“The little gunman is correct, sadly, I do not know who wants this delivered,” he cocks his head to the said, a distant and nostalgic expression crossing his face, “but she did seem oh-so familiar.”

Gladio frowns, mind flashing to his conversation earlier, “what? Blonde, young. Looks like the Lady Lunafreya?”

The look in the Chancellor’s eyes is old and haunted, and he takes a few steps back, “Aera.”

“Who now?”

Regaining his composure, Ardyn says, “none of your concern.”

“She was your betrothed,” Prompto blurts, immediately looking like he regrets speaking.

“No- how do you know that?”

He shuffles aside, uncomfortable, “does it matter? I’m right, so what does she want?”

“I leave you with that, do what you will with it,” spinning on his heel, Ardyn starts to walk away, “and it was so _good_ to see you again, wayward clone.”

As soon as he’s gone, Prompto sinks to the ground, head between his knees. His cigarette fallen beside him. Gladio kneels beside him, placing his hand gently on his shoulder, which is shaking and heaving with the rest of his body. 

“Shh… it’s alright, Prom. He’s gone, it’s okay…” Gladio mutters to him for a good chunk of time, glaring at anyone who comes too close.

“Sorry,” he croaks, not raising his head, “I thought I could… I thought…” he makes a sound of frustration.

“Take you time.”

Prompto tilts his head just enough to peek at Gladio, eyes red and guilty, “sorry.”

“You gotta stop saying that, kid,” sitting down properly, Gladio puts his arm around Prompto, “look, I don’t know what he did to you, but that was some tough stuff, standing up to him.”

Prompto snorts, “thanks, dad.”

“Someone needed to say it. You okay?”

“Yeah, uh, no. I can’t get his face outta my head,” gripping his hair, his breathing uneven, he laughs, “I don’t feel strong when I think of him. I feel like I want to crawl in a hole and die. What’s tough about that?”

“What’s tough is the fact that you didn’t do that.”

“But I almost did, and I would’ve, I just got caught,” he’s shaking again. Gladio pauses, a sinking feeling settling in his stomach.

“When was that?”

“U-uh… like, three years after Noct.”

Fuck- just. _Damn it._

“Who stopped you?”

“Aranea.”

Gladio pulls him into a proper hug, surprising both of them, “I’m sorry I wasn’t there for you. We are now- me and Ignis, okay?”

Prompto hugs back, not responding as silent sobs rack his body. Gladio can only ask himself how he fucked up so badly. Ignis is blind, Noct is set to die, Prompto has given up, and Gladio can’t even get his own shit together enough to help anyone. Some shield he is, full of holes and rusted from use and abuse.

“It doesn’t matter,” Prompto mumbles, voice quieted by his face being buried in Gladio’s shoulder.

“Of course it does,” for the first time in years, a well of hopelessness threatens to drown him, “I promise it does.”

“No,” he head shakes, “because- I mean, what do we even do after this?”

“You can wait tables,” Gladio tries, only half joking. No reaction. “We’ll open a-”

“Stop it! We don’t even know if we are going to survive the next battle Gladio,” he pulls himself away, actually looking at Gladio, “how can you be so, so-”

“Optimistic?” He studies Prompto’s tired face, “if I remember, that used to be your job.”

He looks down, defeated, “not anymore.”

“You need to pull yourself out of this hole,” Gladio advises, “it’ll kill you.”

Standing, Prompto sniffles at that comment, “well, maybe I don’t care. C’mon, back to the room.”

Shaking his head, Gladio rises with him. The usual, tougher tactics he uses with Noct don’t work with Prompto, and it frustrates him to no end. Ignis is much better suited with gradual prodding in the right direction. Gladio… well, he likes fast results. 

About halfway to the hotel, Gladio pulls Prompto aside, dread still sinking its claws in him, “Prom, I just need to know… you’re not going to, ah-”

“Off myself?” Prompto looks at him like he made a stupid joke, even completing the look with a small, amused smile. Only the context of the conversation betrays his true feelings.  
“Yeah. That’s exactly it,” Gladio tries not to sound too… anything. He figures emoting concern, pity or anger will only push him further away. Complete, unbiased indifference is the way to go, without a doubt. “So?”

Prompto pats him on the shoulder, “don’t worry about me, big guy. I promise I’ll be okay, okay?”

He skips away, as if the joyous act of hopping will convince everyone of a stable mental state. But he probably knows it isn’t working, and is just doing it out of habit. Sighing, Gladio reluctantly follows his friend. At least, for a while, it was nice to pretend that things were back like ten years ago. It was a mistake, yes, but Gladio thinks he got some sort of valuable lesson from this. What it is exactly, he doesn’t know yet. Something profound, maybe.

The room is quiet when they walk in, Noctis asleep and burrowed in bedsheets, and Ignis sitting and reading one of Gladio’s books. Funny, how he always made fun of them before.

Ignis looks up, instantly on guard at Gladio’s expression, “what happened?”

“Ardyn happened,” Gladio comments, watching as Prompto gently shakes Noct awake.

Ignis is on his feet in a second, “ _what?_ Where?”

“The outlook,” Prompto supplies, acting like nothing happened, “had some sort of flowery message for us.”

“The sword not being a peaceful weapon or something.”

Still half asleep, Noct mumbles, “‘The Sword is not a weapon of peace. The god plays false, death be upon the naive. Let fires cease-’”

“‘-for The Sword is not of peace’,” Ignis finishes, “an old nursery rhyme.”

“So he’s back on that bullshit,” Gladio rolls his eyes, “great.”

“The hell kind of nursery rhyme is that?” Prompto wonders, “kinda harsh.”

“Was this his own message?” He asks, “or was he simply passing it on?”

Gladio sits on the other bed, “nah, lady named Aera sent it to him,” he sends a meaningful look at Noct, just beginning to crack his eyes open. “Some blonde who looks like Lady Lunafreya.”

Ignis starts pacing the room, “Aera… Aera. I _know_ that name…”

“I think it was his lover or something,” Prompto looks started when everyone stares blankly at him, “uh, he let some things slip at, uh, the Keep.”

Looking at the floor with great intensity, Ignis finally snaps his fingers in recognition, “Aera Lucius Caelum, the first Lucian queen and founder.”

“Married to Somnus,” Noct, who has now perked up adds, “brother to…”

“Ardyn,” Gladio finished grimly. “That’s fucked up. Who marries their brother’s girlfriend?”

Prompto frowns, “he told me she died, that Sonmus killed her and exiled him.” 

“Not according to history,” Ignis argues, “in fact, Somnus never had a brother according to most modern texts.”

“Most…” Noct prompts, for once curious about a history lesson. 

Coughing and readjusting his glasses, he says, “ah, well. The rare one mentions something about the exiling of a daemon healer- Adagium. They cast him away to Angelguard.”

“Why Adagium?” Gladio questions, “sorry, never bothered with old Solheimien.”

“In a basic sense it means ‘ignored’,” Ignis scoffs, rolling his eyes, “really, the study of any language is important-”

“So we’re just assuming that this is Ardyn,” Noct interrupts, “sounds right.”

Gladio tries to make eye contact with Noctis, to coerce him into spilling where he got the idea to go back in time. The stubborn bastard doesn’t even glance his way.

Prompto waves his hands for them to stop, “okay, wait. What’s all this have to do with a nursery rhyme?”

“‘The god plays false’...” Noct ponders, “Ifrit?”

“Nah,” Prompto shakes his head, “these things are always ‘go big or go home’, I say it’s Bahamut.”

“Would make sense,” Gladio scooches over as Ignis comes to sit beside him, “swords and all.”

“You are saying that Bahamut is against us?” Ignis leans forward, glaring at them all, “this talk should not be taken lightly-”

“It’s not,” Noct says quickly, “but- think about it.”

“And what evidence do we have?” He snaps, “a vague story about a missing man.”

“That would mean…” Prompto takes a breath, “that Ardyn’s a _good guy?_ ”

“No.” The three others reply.

“Even if he was...” Ignis shakes his head, “ _wronged_ in the past, it does not excuse his actions at present. Or ever, as far as I’m concerned.”

The four of them stew in that for a while, lost in the things taken from them. 

“I say we talk to him,” Noct suggests, meeting all their eyes before continuing, “it’s worth a shot.”

“Hell no,” Gladio growls, “after what he’s done? No.” He can’t help but glance at Prompto after speaking. If he notices, he doesn’t indicate it.

“We wouldn’t even know where to find him,” Ignis says, “he seems to exist in very specific locations only when convenient to him.”

“I bet Aranea knows where he his,” Prompto- and Gladio can’t believe this- suggests. “She hasn’t defected yet, right?”

“Why the hell are you agreeing with him?” He asks sharply, “you more than anybody should-”

“If there is a shot we can fix this mess, I’ll take it,” Prompto snaps back, “I trust Noct, and if he says it’s worth the risk, then I’m in.”

_Stop treating me like I’m fragile._

Noct smiles and bumps his friend’s shoulder. Prompto nods solemnly, giving Noct a hesitant smile back. It tugs at Gladio’s heart, to think of everything else they have left to lose.

_Yeah, well. Maybe you aren’t the only one who’s shattering._

“I don’t agree. There is too much at risk.”

Ignis places a hand on his shoulder, “Gladio…”

“Nope,”  he shrugs him off, “not you too, Iggy. Please, _someone_ has to see how stupid this is.”

“I don’t agree either, Gladio, but…”

“But it might be worth a shot,” Noct finishes, and Prompto hums in agreement.

“So you’re in with them?” He tries not to feel a little betrayed.

“Well, I-”

“Yes or no question, Iggy.”

Ignis glares, “I think it’s a long shot, and ill advised. It’s doltish, dangerous, irrational and all around asinine-”

“Okay, we get it,” Noct mutters.

“But damn it, we have another chance,” Ignis grabs his shoulder and looks at him with pleading eyes.

Three against one- damn it. Gladio lowers his head and tries to think about what this might mean.

So they could go back, fight the bad guys, win, Noctis dies and the light comes back. Pretty much a guarantee at this point.

Or they could team up with Ardyn, the bad guy, and attempt to thwart Bahamut, the god of gods, and see what happens. Failure means unimaginable consequences and maybe eternal suffering and pain. Success means Noct lives and they have their happily ever after.

And looking at Noct’s face now- hell, there’s no competition. 

“Call Aranea.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Updates will slow down now, I start my job on the sixth and will spend the next week out and won't be able to write.

**Author's Note:**

> Please remember to leave comments and kudos! Or don't, if you hated this fic. I will by the end!  
> Message me on Tumblr and rant about ffxv @noodle--snake  
> Thanks for reading!!!


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